


Wet Hot Michigan Summer

by HighlyExplosiveContent, raziella



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dirty Dancing Fusion, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Bottom Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Coitus Interruptus, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Connor is not a blushing virgin, Dance Teacher Connor, Dancing, Falling In Love, First Time, Gavin Reed Being an Asshole, Hank is Good at His Job, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Sharing Clothes, Skinny Dipping, Top Hank Anderson, all of them!!, all the characters - Freeform, but he is blushing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:15:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 76,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23966008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HighlyExplosiveContent/pseuds/HighlyExplosiveContent, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raziella/pseuds/raziella
Summary: “Have you seen the people at this place?” Gavin asks, sneering. “I saw the dance instructors, and let me tell you,” he pauses to whistle obnoxiously. “Theyfine.”Hank’s mouth turns dry when he sees the guy on the stage. Connor's voice is a little quirky and when he introduces himself he makes a small joke to which nobody laughs and a blush crawls up his entire face.Hank might end up taking the dance option after all.---In which the DPD go to a vacation resort to work on their team building and Connor is the hot dance instructor Hank can't keep his eyes off.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor, minor Markus/Simon (Detroit: Become Human) - Relationship, minor Original Chloe | RT600/North - Relationship
Comments: 109
Kudos: 208





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to our work of complete self-indulgence in our new hyper obsession. This started out as a discussion of how Connor would work in a dirty dancing setting, derailed somewhere when we decided to watch wet hot american summer and ended up in this shit pile. 
> 
> The work is complete, we'll be posting every week. Hope you guys enjoy!

DETROIT CITY **POLICE STATION**

WEDNESDAY **APRIL 8TH** , 2020 - AM **10:08** :16

"It's a what now?" asks Hank.

"A trip for team building.”

So he didn't imagine it. Fuck.

"It's mandatory," Fowler continues as if reading Hank's mind.

Hank drops his head into his arms and groans. Could this fucking week get any fucking worse.

“You’ll be sharing rooms,” Fowler says loudly to be heard over the roaring of boos. “And you’ll be thankful you ungrateful sons-of-bitches, seeing as the police department is paying for the entire thing.”

A few people cheer slightly, in apology, and Fowler goes on to explain the logistics of travel, schedules and other useful shit that Hank can't be bothered with. Fowler will send an email with the important info and someone, probably Ben, will make sure Hank is at whatever place they are meeting up at on time.

“The resort is close to Lake Huron. You'll have time to go swimming and shoot the shit. You’ll be required to sign up for at least three activities-”

“I cannot fucking believe this,” Hank mutters loudly enough for Chris to look up and give a commiserating smile.

“I dunno,” says Chris. “Beats sitting around here doing nothing but paperwork and listen to Gavin tell stories no one believes about a lay he definitely didn’t have.”

“No, you’re right. Instead we’ll be cooped up in a fucking cabin with three other dudes, one which will definitely include Gavin because that’s just the way my life is running these days, and we’ll be forced to listen to those same bullshit stories twenty-four hours for a whole week. If I don’t shoot myself in the head by the end of the first day, call an ambulance because I’ve had brain damage.”

Chris gives a half-hearted chuckle and Hank considers it a win. He takes a sip from his coffee and swallows bravely despite the cold drink almost making him gag. He has _got_ to stop leaving his coffee mugs on his desk.

Fowler is still talking about proper behavior and looking sternly at the new recruits. His eyes land on Hank, too, for a second, but Hank just gives him a salute with his coffee and smiles when Fowler grits his teeth and moves on.

Hank almost takes another drink in victory and quickly sets it down.

“Eh,” he says reluctantly. “Might be fun.”

***

STATE MICHIGAN **ROSE BEACH RESORT HOTEL**

MONDAY **JULY 13TH** , 2020 - AM **11:58** :42

"You gotta be fucking kidding me," Gavin swears, accurately expressing Hank's sentiment. He has dropped his bag in the middle of the narrow front door, making Hank almost trip over it on his way inside.

They’re hot, sweaty and tired. The drive up to the resort by Lake Huron is just over an hour long but every minute crammed in with Gavin and Tina was torture in itself. When the DPD finally arrived at the hotel, they collectively breathed a sigh of relief to see that it was fancy. They were all looking forward to a week of luxurious meals, hours on the beach and rooms with plenty of AC. Fowler checked them off the list and sent them on their way to a complex of apartments a five minute walk away from the hotel. Unlike the rest of the hotel, these houses look like they haven’t been renovated since the 70s. The walls of the buildings are painted light gray but by now the color is halfway peeled off to reveal the wooden surface underneath. To call it disappointing is an understatement.

Hank and Gavin's shared lodging is, for lack of a better word, fucking tiny.

The apartment, if you can call it that, consists of a kitchen that could belong in Hank's grandma's home, and a bathroom without shower. The kitchen seems like a fire hazard in itself, stove and mint green fridge looking like they have at least forty years on them. One single bookshelf is haphazardly nailed to the wall by the entrance, and it's stacked with books and knick knacks that previous guests have forgotten or left behind. The worst part of it, though, is the fucking double bed. 

Hank has been to motels worse than this, where the mattresses were tainted with questionable stains and walls full of bedbugs. He has slept in his own car several times. In his own mind, he's not that picky when it comes to sleeping accommodations.

He nearly loses it, however, when they walk down the narrow hallway, into the bedroom, and he sees a giant painting of a sad clown. 

"Jesus fucking Christ!" he yells, recoiling. 

It looks like it stepped out of the nightmares of his childhood. It hangs right over the bed, staring down at them with big weepy eyes.

Gavin makes an undignified squeak and backs into a wall.

They lock eyes with each other and for once they seem to be on the same page. Together, they approach the painting on each side of the bed and lift it off the wall. At first Hank simply sets it down on the floor, next to the bed, but the clown's crying face unsettles him still. It's like its black eyes follow you wherever you stand in relation to it.

"No-no-no! That-that thing goes _under the bed!_ " Gavin insists, pointing at the incriminating painting with an accusatory finger. 

Hank folds Gavin’s potential fear of clowns into a metaphorical pocket in his brain. For strategic purposes.

He finally gets the nightmarish painting under the bed and doesn't even care how ugly the wall looks now, the tapestry pale from sun exposure on every part of the wall except where the painting hung.

"Fuck, I'm gonna have nightmares about that thing crawling out, choking us with its fucking hat," Hank mutters, mostly because of the terrified stare he gets from Gavin in response.

"If you get handsy with me in my sleep, I'll cut your arms off," Gavin snarls. 

Hank scoffs.

"As if you’re even my type, kid."

They don't have time to go through the sad excuse of a bathroom or to begin unpacking. Jeffrey's instructions were to simply dump their stuff in their respective lodgings and then return to the main complex. Removing clown paintings not withstanding.

Hank and Gavin meet Chris on the way up, kissing his baby boy goodbye. Damian, who's cuddled up in his mother's arms, gurgles happily. Chris refused to leave for this vacation, or whatever the fuck Jeffrey wants to call it, without his wife and child.

_"I can't just leave Janine alone for an entire week with a baby that refuses to sleep at night! She'll either die or kill me when I come home."_

A familiar pressure burns in Hank’s chest. The baby is so small, coos delightedly at Chris. For a moment Hank stands at the edge of an abyss. It’s so easy to take the plunge into the dark thoughts, and he has to use all of his tools from therapy to bring himself back from that place. 

Chris gives him a careful look but says nothing. He joins them on their way to the hotel, not voicing his concerns, no matter how much Hank can tell he wants to. It’s ever so infuriating when someone almost mentions his son, he feels the contradictory mix of relief, and disappointment.

***

MONDAY **JULY 13TH** , 2020 - PM **01:38** :26

Somebody shoves Hank’s shoulder and he snaps awake from his frankly very uncomfortable nap. He raises his head to look around through groggy eyes. Oh, right, still in the orientation meeting.

“Wake up,” Ben mutters.

Hank glances his way and sees him staring up front to where their guide is giving them way too detailed information for a first meeting.

“Wha,” he begins, looking back at Ben.

Ben nods to the side where Fowler is giving him a murderous glare.

Oh right, straighten up and don’t ruin this team building trip or his disciplinary folder is going to get a new unflattering chapter.

Hank sits up straight, winces at a crick in the neck and discretely wipes away some drool from his beard. Words are just beginning to filter back in when their guide comes to a stop, saying that’s all and if there aren’t any more questions they are free to go sign up for their courses and don’t forget to check in at three for their meet-and-greet with the other guests. Chairs scrape against the floor as sixty detectives stand up to make their way to the lists put up on the wall outside the conference room. Hank thinks he’ll skip this part and slinks out the door with minor elbowing. 

He’s just nodding politely at the cleaning personnel and making his way out the building towards the beach when someone clears their throat behind him. Apprehensively, he turns around.

It’s Fowler, of course.

“I can’t help but notice you’ve left without signing up for anything.”

Hank shrugs and looks out across the frankly beautiful landscape.

“Eh, I just thought I might take a walk or something instead. There’s always time to sign up later, no need to get in with the rush.”

Fowler looks less than impressed with Hank’s beautifully crafted lie.

“Uh-huh, and I just came out here to tell you that if you don’t sign up for at least two activities you’ll be getting an official warning in your file _and_ you’ll be paying for this all by yourself.”

Hank doesn’t know what the actual cost of this week of paradise costs and has no intention of finding out. He may be able to afford the biggest and pickiest of dogs out there, but he’s not made of money. He couldn’t afford this. He clears his throat.

“And, uh, say I were to go back and sign up after lunch when the masses have dispersed a bit. Would that be acceptable?”

Fowler smiles an entirely joyless smile and says, “Of course, just know that we’re not alone at this resort and the DPD were kindly given first take on the activities to ensure full participation.” His smile looks positively evil. “There’s no spot guarantee if sign-up is done after two o’clock and the three-activity participation minimum stands, intention to sign up or no.”

“Gotcha,” Hanks says and weakly salutes before hunkering down to the beach. 

He’s going to sit in the sun and listen to water wash up on the shore this morning as per hastily thrown together plan if it kills him.

There are no sunloungers down by the shore and he doesn’t understand this place at all. Looking around, a bit lost, he doesn’t find a shed or anything that could feasibly hold a bunch of sunloungers. He shrugs out of his jacket and puts in on the ground. He drops down onto his make-do chair and leans back onto his elbows, stretching out his legs. 

The sun is hot and he kicks off his shoes and socks after a moment. The sand is a little wet but he digs his toes into it anyway. When was the last time he felt sand between his toes, he wonders and breathes in the fresh air.

It hasn’t been even close to enough time to enjoy the solitude when someone heavy flumps down beside him. Hank opens his eyes to tell them to fuck off when he sees it’s Fowler. Again.

“I thought we came to an agreement.”

Fowler looks at him, humorlessly.

The silence stretches out between them and Hank looks back out at the water, tries to ignore his boss sitting there, apparently expecting something from him.

“What?” he says eventually, when he’s getting tired of waiting for Fowler to speak. He has never managed to win a pigheadedness game between the two of them. He doesn't know why he expected to start now.

“Just wanted to make sure you were doing all right,” Fowler says and Hank tastes something acid on his tongue.

Of course. He is here to make sure Hank isn't drowning in booze.

“I’m doing fine,” Hanks gruffs out.

“Course you are,” Fowler agrees and Hank grits his teeth.

“Really.”

“Really.”

There is silence between them again.

Fuck this shit.

“Look-”

“I know you’ve been doing better, Hank,” Fowler interrupts and Hank closes his mouth.

“Then why the fuck’re you askin’?” he grouts and kicks up some sand. He regrets it when wind takes hold of it and blows it into his face.

“Because recovery isn’t a straight road and believe it or not, I’ve actually handled people struggling through shit before,” Fowler says and something about the way he says it makes Hank wonder.

“Gee, thanks for your faith in me,” Hank says.

“It’s my faith in you that has kept you with a job for the past two years,” Fowler replies and Hank shuts up because, yeah, he has been in some dark places and Fowler has indeed stood in his corner most of those times. It feels different to hear it spelled out, though, that he would have lost his job, his, let’s be real, only anchor to sanity if it wasn’t for this man here who could perhaps have been called a friend not that long ago. “I’m not saying it to remind you of a debt or some shit like that,” Fowler goes on as if reading his mind and yeah, he has always been perceptive like that but it didn’t use to hurt when it wasn’t satiated with shame and guilt. 

“Great,” Hank grunts, because it is apparently his turn to say something.

“Don’t be a dick.”

“Have you met me,” Hank says without inflection.

“Not in a while,” Fowler says. “But I think he might be returning and I’m glad to see him.”

That shuts Hank up for real. He glares out at the water. The sun is starting to really beat down and he can feel his face start to burn.

“Don’t forget to sign up for some fucking activities,” Fowler says and stands up. Hank grunts out a laugh. Hypocritical dick. “I heard they’ve got a chess club,” he calls back as he leaves Hank to his thoughts.

***

MONDAY **JULY 13TH** , 2020 - PM **02:16** :41

Hank remains in the sun for a while, letting the sun burn his face and the cold sand slowly turn his toes into popsicles. When the damp reaches through his jacket and into his jeans, he gives up and stands. He experiences a small vertigo and stands perfectly still for a second. The breeze picks up, or it’s more prominent when not so close to the ground. He picks up his jacket, shaking out the sand. His phone accidentally drops out of one of the pockets and he bends again with a grunt to fish it out of the sand. As he blows on it and wipes it on his shirt he notices it’s turned off. Probably forgot to turn it on after the meeting.

As the small device powers on, he walks back to the resort, shoes in hand. He blinks when he sees five missed calls from his dog-sitter, and another two texts saying “call me”.

He dials.

“Mr. Anderson!” says Penny, obvious relief in her voice.

“What’s happened?” Hank asks, dread like a stone in his stomach.

“I can’t find Sumo.”

It takes a moment for that to sink in. He looks at his watch; it’s well into the afternoon and they left Detroit several hours ago.

Penny goes on, “I went to your house at lunch to pick him up like we decided, but the house was empty. I checked every room, nook and cranny, and there were no open doors, no place he could have got out. No nothing!” Penny’s voice is steadily growing more shrill. “I thought maybe you changed your mind and decided to bring him but then I thought, no you would definitely tell me if you did. I’ve been trying to call you and when you didn’t pick up I called the police but they just said they didn’t have the manpower to look into it at the moment and-”

“All right, shut up,” says Hank, dragging his unoccupied hand across his face. “Was the door locked when you got there?” he asks, almost desperately.

“Yes, of course!” Penny almost yells in his ear.

“No sign of forced entry?”

“I wouldn’t have gone in if there had been!”

“Have you checked the yard?”

“What part of every nook and cranny was unclear?” Penny yells this time and Hank can hear she has started crying.

“Okay, all right, it’s all right, Penny. Calm down. I’m gonna go speak to my boss and then I’m coming home.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Anderson,” Penny sobs.

“It’s not your fault. We’re gonna find out whose it is.”

He hangs up and dials the next number, changing direction to the apartment complex, digging for the key in his jean-pocket. Fowler picks up on the third ring, and Hank explains. It’s strange how they spoke only minutes ago and yet there is no sign of that in his voice. Strictly professional, it’s “of course, Hank. You go home, check it out.” Hank breathes out in relief.

He stabs the key into the lock, managing to get it in on the third try. Inside is almost pitch-black, and he strains his eyes trying to adjust to the darkness. He grabs his bag, thankfully still packed, and turns around in the same step, narrowly avoiding stubbing his toe on the damn threshold and runs back to his car. His car key is in the bottom of the side pocket, and he’s pretty sure he drops a few things on the way to the car but he’s too stressed to check it out or go back.

The first time he wishes his car had an automatic lock is when he almost bends the key trying to get it into the lock and he swears loudly.

A low whine answers him.

He stops dead in his tracks.

He looks up from the damn key, peering into the car, shielding his eyes to see better and finally focuses on something moving inside. His heart is beating like a drum in his chest. He falls forward, leaning his forehead onto the hot glass, almost crying.

There, inside the car in the luggage boot, panting and whining happily, is his damn dog.

He finally gets the key inside the lock, swinging the door open. The warm air is like a wall in his face. He hurries around the car to the boot and opens it. Sumo jumps straight into his chest before landing on the ground, panting wildly.

“Oh Jesus, Jesus fucking Christ,” he says and falls down on his ass. 

Sumo licks him in the face, tongue dry and grating, before lumbering away, still panting madly.

“All right, wait up,” Hank says, standing up on wobbly legs. “Let me get you some water, you mad, mad, beast.”

Thankfully the way to the cabin is short and Hank apparently left the door unlocked. He walks in, rummages around in the cabinets until he finds a bowl and fills it with cool water.

As Sumo laps greedily, Hank drenches a towel in cold water before lowering onto Sumo’s neck. He walks into the bathroom and grabs the two towels he finds there and drenches them, too, in cool water, rubbing them around Sumo’s armpits and between his hindlegs.

Hank watches carefully, rubbing Sumo’s ears. There’s no fan in the room but it’s cooler than outdoors. Sumo drinks without vomiting and wags his tail happily.

“You stupid, stupid dog,” he says, voice wavering only slightly.

He calls his veterinarian, listening to the advice and hangs up. In his bag there is no doggy stuff because this wasn’t planned. He calls the front desk, asking if they have a thermometer. While he waits, he calls Fowler again to explain what has happened. He’s a good man, asks how Sumo’s doing and Hank says he’ll be fine. When he hangs up, he dials Penny’s number and explains to her, too, what happened. He rubs Sumo’s back and neck while he talks, feeling so thankful for the big beast.

A little while later, a blond guy in staff uniform shows up with a thermometer. When he hands it over, his eyes are wide.

“Thanks,” Hank says and is about to shut the door in his face, when the guy sticks a foot in the way.

“Is the dog all right?” he asks and Hank hesitates.

“He’s gonna be fine,” he gruffs out and then shoves the door closed.

***

THURSDAY **MAY 23RD** , 2019 - PM **04:52** :31

The first time Connor sees the small cottage by a secluded, thin strip of sandy beach, he loves it. It’s a beautiful lake house, white panels and large windows. It doesn’t take him long, though, to realize that while beautiful it’s full of problems. Perhaps not problems for most people, but Connor can feel his skin crawling just thinking about the water that never runs cold, the never ending clutter in all imaginable places and the invasions of ants in the pantry. Markus called it charming and Connor might agree but charming isn’t equal to livable.

When Connor announced he got the job at Rose Beach Resort Hotel, Markus insisted Connor join their small collective of three hotel employees. 

The inside of the house is painted white and the large windows let the sunlight seep in, giving it a gorgeous, open feeling. It’s still small and he has to sleep in the living room, but the couch is surprisingly comfortable and the company is- well, he never had friends like these back in university. 

He’s the first one to arrive on the first day, feeling anxious and misplaced when he turns the rusty old key in the lock and pushes the door open. Connor hoped to go with Markus the first day, but his friend has an exam to do before going back home and picking up his bags.

Connor drops his duffel bag on the bed in the single bedroom, then thinks maybe he shouldn’t assume it’s “first come, first serve” in a place like this. Instead, he leaves it in the hallway and heads to the kitchen to make inventory. Ms. Chapman - Rose- says they’re allowed lunch in the hotel restaurant, but they still need food in the fridge. He starts making a shopping list when he hears a low creak behind him. Slowly turning around, he’s startled when a redheaded woman pushes open the sliding glass door to the living room. If he would have anything but his phone in his hands, he would have thrown it right at the intruder’s face. Instead he stands there, stock still until realization that this must be one of his roommates hits him.

“...Connor, right?” the woman, seemingly unperturbed, asks with a smirk. “Sorry for barging in, most of us know this door is usually open. I never go through the main entrance.” She throws her bag onto the couch, kicks off her shoes and walks over to him. “I’m North, your new dance partner.”

Connor wants to laugh, but opts for shaking her hand instead. He does recognize her now.

“Nice to meet you, North. I saw your tapes from previous years. Your Lindy hop routine last year was insane. In a good way.” 

North huffs.

“All right, no need to butter me up. I saw yours last night, too.” She glances up at him with a mischievous smirk. “You’re all right, I guess.” 

It makes Connor laugh and bow at the praise.

“We’ll have to see tomorrow. Good thing the old instructors left some guidelines for us. I do have a few ideas for classes-" he starts, excited to begin, but North puts up a finger to his face.

"Ah ah ah!" she chides. "No shop talk right now. We'll figure that out tomorrow. Tonight is for having fun." 

She digs through her bag and holds up two bottles of tequila. Connor raises a brow, then smiles.

***

THURSDAY **MAY 23RD** , 2019 - PM **08:45** :36

When Markus arrives, it’s evening and Connor has had several hours together with Josh and North. That was probably part of Markus’ plan, forcing Connor to make friends without Markus there as a crutch. It’s a suspicion that gets confirmed when Markus walks into the living room where North has thrown her legs across Connor's lap and is throwing popcorn into his mouth. Markus simply smiles knowingly and Connor silently thanks his friend for always looking out for him.

North and Josh are easy to get to know and Connor forgets to be anxious that he's miles from Detroit, in the middle of nowhere and sharing housing with two strangers.

“All right, are we finally gonna decide on beds?” Josh asks when everyone is settled back down on the couch. “This time we have to include the couch as well. You know how it goes: winner gets the single room, losers get the double.” 

They do several takes of “Rock-paper-scissors” until Josh wins the single bedroom. Connor gets the couch, somewhat relieved to get his own bedroom of sorts, a little disappointed that he won't share room with Markus. The man is the most zen person he has ever met. Nothing seems to stress him out, which matches perfectly with Connor’s anxiety.

Snuggled up underneath the covers, Connor lies awake that first night, worried and excited about the upcoming months. He will be doing what he loves - teaching and, most of all, _dancing_.

***

MONDAY **JULY 13TH** , 2020 - PM **02:39** :41

“You’re lucky the parking lot is mostly in shadow,” Chris says.

His voice is laced with concern but he doesn’t say anything more and Hank is thankful. He already feels like shit.

They’re waiting for the three o’clock ‘meet ‘n greet’ whatever the fuck that means. Seated at the bar, Chris has ordered a light beer but looks at Hank a little guiltily when Hank orders sparkling water. Hank ignores the look and bites into the lemon before sipping the cool drink.

“You know what this thing is even supposed to be?” he asks and Chris shrugs.

“Not really. Think it might be a chance for everyone to get to know the other people staying here and maybe the personnel, too.”

Hank grunts. Makes sense.

“Yeah, the _personnel_ ,” a new voice cuts in and Hank and Chris both look up to see Gavin fucking Reed leaning on the bar, gesturing at the bartender, making complicated hand gestures. 

“What,” says Hank.

“Have you seen the people at this place?” Gavin asks and his sneer is doing a lot of the talking for him. “I saw some of the people who’ll be teaching the dance classes, and let me tell you,” he pauses to whistle obnoxiously. “They _fine_.”

Several people turn around to look for the sound and Hank sighs. He isn’t thrilled about signing up for any of the activities but he knows he won’t pick based on the attractiveness of the people leading them. Count on Gavin to suss out the hotties and march straight for them.

When he doesn’t get any further response from them, Gavin huffs, takes his drink and goes away. Hank snorts and shares a good-humored look with Chris.

“What have you signed up for?” he asks.

Chris shrugs.

“He may be an ass but the dance class did look the most fun.”

Hank raises his eyebrows.

“You dance?”

Chris laughs, “Not in a long while and certainly not since we got Damian but yeah, once upon a thousand years ago that’s how I met Janine.”

Hank is surprised. He had no idea Chris used to dance.

“No shit?”

“Yup,” Chris says and drinks his beer.

There’s a comfortable silence. People are slowly gathering in the room for the assembly. 

“Thought I might join the chess club,” Hank says into the quiet.

Chris turns to him.

“There’s no chess club.”

Silently Hank curses out Fowler and his stupid ass fucking comedian bullshit. 

“Whatever.”

Chris laughs and pats him on the back. Hank shrugs him off. He smiles in thanks to the bartender who refills his glass. It’s hot in the room with all these people, despite the air conditioning whirring loudly.

Soon enough the meeting starts up and the owner of the resort, Ms. Chapman, comes up on the small stage and welcomes them. She tells them about the history of the place, the surrounding nature and the activities they offer. Some of it overlaps with what they were told in the orientation but Hank, having slept through most of that, listens. 

When Ms. Chapman is finished, she introduces all the staff. Hank is mildly impressed; she welcomes them all on stage, cleaning staff, kitchen crew and teachers all the same. He recognizes the kind man who fetched him the thermometer and nods to him when their eyes meet. He also sees the lady who Gavin must have spoken about, North. She’s a gorgeous woman, slender, tall, long hair, all that jazz. Hank’s attention is grabbed, however, by the young man who follows her up the stage. 

Hank’s mouth turns dry when he sees the guy, Connor. He’s young, tall, strong and his face is like an angel’s when he smiles out at the assembly. His voice is a little quirky and when he introduces himself he makes a small joke to which nobody laughs and a blush crawls up his entire face. North claps him on the shoulder and he seems to melt back into the background with her, a thankful look on his beautiful face.

Hank is charmed, to say the least.

He might end up taking the dance option after all.

***

SUNDAY **JUNE 16TH** , 2019 - PM **04:13** :59

The air conditioning is doing its best to account for the amount of heat generated by 30 people moving about wildly, panting and sweating in the June heat. It’s a losing battle and Connor pulls on his shirt to create an artificial wind against his skin.

He supposes he should feel some pride for making this group of middle-aged, amateur, non-enthusiastic dancers do something resembling a Cha-cha. Mostly he feels tired.

“Chin up, newbie,” says North. 

She’s smiling and Connor can’t say if it’s from his pained expression or from genuine joy.

“I didn’t realize this would be so exhausting,” Connor admits and takes a pull on his water bottle. “I feel a modicum of sympathy for my former teachers.”

North hides her chuckle behind a cough.

“Don’t sweat it, you’re doing great.”

Connor imitates a chicken dance, waving his sweaty arms in her face. North shrieks, pulling away.

“All right, I get it, you dickwad. Get away from me!”

Connor relents and steps away to gather the attention of the room. He makes a speech about perseverance and hard work. He thanks them for their dedication and invites them to keep dancing. The group cheers and claps. Connor feels happiness swell in his chest when he looks out on the group they’ve been coaching for the past two weeks and see their genuine smiles and heartfelt joy. Despite the heat, the frankly disgusting smell in the room and the fatigue from an hour of intense dancing, they’re all so happy. 

This might not be what his parents want for him, or the best approach to making a successful career in dancing, but damn it all if this isn’t what dancing is all about. 

He joins in the cheer and clapping, making eye-contact with several of the students who he has seen struggle and work hard to learn complicated step-combinations. 

When someone brings their water bottle into the equation, turning it into a water fight, chaos ensues and Connor hastily makes a tactical retreat. North follows him out, calling him a coward all the while.

“You’re running, same as me!” Connor shouts.

“Is it running away if it’s a war strategy?” she asks and Connor doesn’t have time to duck away before she upends her entire bottle over his head.

Connor yells, “I surrender!”

“Weak!” North screams and then screams again when someone hits her with a spray of lemonade. “Uuugh, water only, you assholes!” she screams and makes such a pathetic face Connor can’t help but pity her.

“All right, that’s enough!” he calls out to the group. “Go shower and clean up. We’ll see you all at dinner in two hours and I expect you all to be presentable by then.”

Some people groan in genuine disappointment, likely the ones who ran off to refill their bottles. Most just accept it and go to collect their things.

“Way to kill the mood,” North says and Connor turns, surprised, to her. She sees his face and cackles. “I’m kidding, thanks for the rescue, _dad_.”

That is as much of a genuine thank you that you can expect from North and Connor smiles back at her. 

“Whatever.”

“Uh-oh,” North says suddenly and Connor looks up. “Mommy troops are putting in their final attack.”

North makes to leave and Connor quickly grabs her wrist to stop her, “Help,” he says with pleading eyes.

“Oh no, you’re on your own, Mr. They’re just being polite, don’t be silly, North,” North says, making a poor imitation of Connor’s voice.

“Please forgive me for my naïvete and save me.”

For a second it looks like she might relent but then a gleeful expression blooms on her face and she turns to Mrs. Hoffman.

“Oh, Mrs. Hoffman, good work out there today. I’m sorry I have to go get ready for the night’s special performance, but Connor here can stay if you had some questions.”

“Mrs. Hoffman, how are you?”

“It’s Veronica, I’ve told you a million times, Connor,” Mrs. Hoffman says and smiles widely at him. “I was just wondering if you’re coming to tonight’s event.”

Connor mouths, “I hate you” at North who winks and disappears, before turning to Mrs. Hoffman. 

“I am,” he begins politely, “Perhaps I’ll see you there, Mrs. Hoffman.”

“You most certainly will,” Mrs. Hoffman says with a flirty smile. Connor nods at her, ready to leave but Mrs. Hoffman lingers. “Do you think you could be tempted to a dance with me?” she asks.

Connor can feel the usual reluctance in his stomach but swallows it down. It’s part of the job to dance and entertain the guests.

“I could,” he says with a wink and Mrs. Hoffman looks delighted. 

***

SUNDAY **JUNE 16TH** , 2019 - PM **09:45** :06

“Thought this night would never end,” Connor groans when he and North exit the dance hall in the evening. “If I started carrying a rainbow flag, do you think the unhappy wives would give it up?” 

North scoffs. 

“Well, if you’d rather have the unhappy husbands on you, then be my guest,” she quips. 

It’s a dumb inside joke; This resort, while owned by sweet, thoughtful Ms. Chapman, isn’t really known for being LGBTQ inclusive. Which means that North and Connor’s dances are unavoidably heteronormative. 

They’re both used to the guests being inappropriate but as long as no one crosses the line from pathetic to uncomfortable, they’re equipped to deal with it.

“I hope it’ll stop raining,” North mutters. “I’ll get mud all over my dance shoes.” She sits down on the floor and unclasps the straps of her heels and pulls them off, switching to sneakers. “Next year, you’ll wear the heels.”

“Just so long I get a matching dress,” Connor grins.

“You got it,” North cackles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We love to talk, come say hi on tumblr:  
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> If you'd like to see what Jericho's lake house looks like in our mind, and if you have the Sims 4, go to the gallery and search the hashtag#wethotmichigansummer !


	2. Tuesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a brief disclaimer that we don't know anything about ballroom dance. My friend who does the ballroom dances almost had me out when I told her that I had googled rather than asked her for advice on writing it. Anyways...

TUESDAY **JULY 14TH** , 2020 - AM **08:02** :12

It doesn't matter that the cops aren't wearing uniforms. Even in their civilian clothes they're still cops - it’s visible in the way they move and talk. Connor schools his expression into pleasant smiles, a face he perfected last summer. It’s one he will keep in check even when someone literally spits him in the face while insulting his mother. 

North is tense next to him. She observes the men as they enter the room, shoving each other playfully while joking amongst themselves, and even though her smile is easy and relaxed as ever, Connor can practically feel the tension radiating off her.

“I think they can hear malign thoughts if you think them loud enough,” Connor whispers to her and she reluctantly pulls a more genuine smile.

“Oink-oink,” she says under her breath and Connor almost chokes trying to smother a laugh.

“Don’t you dare,” Connor coughs. North raises an eyebrow. “No,” he says, going for stern but North doesn’t look particularly frightened. 

“Should we do warmup to ‘bad boys’?” she says as she makes her way to plug in her phone to the speakers. 

Connor fixes her with a terrified glare, even though he catches the teasing in her voice. He watches as the last of the group trails inside. They gather in uneven clusters. The maximum number of participants seems to have been reached for this class. It’s going to be one of those weeks then, Connor thinks and pushes down a tired sigh.

“All right,” he calls out and is glad when the room settles into silence.

He introduces them to the dance class; they’ll be doing the five Latin ballroom dances Samba, Cha-Cha, Rumba, Paso Doble and Jive, one for each day. He’s just getting to the part about how they will be changing partners all throughout the week when a voice rudely interrupts him.

“Hey man, why don’t you let the lady speak?”

Connor looks out across the sea of faces, trying to identify the voice. His gaze stops on a slightly younger face, dark hair, stubble and a mean-looking smile.

“Trust that my partner speaks when she wants to,” says Connor, pleasantly.

“Yeah, shut up, Gavin!” a woman calls and snickers spread through the crowd.

Satisfied the guy won’t interject anymore, Connor sets them to work on simple side steps to the beat of an eighties song, as he and North brace themselves for what is surely gonna be two hours of middle aged men making crude jokes and drooling over North. Most of the cops look mildly uncomfortable. Eventually, some of them get into the groove, laughing together at the awkwardness of stepping four times to the right and clapping, then four steps to the left. It’s a conscious choice, getting their students to let go of their self-consciousness and just let loose and dance.

When the group is sufficiently warm and sweaty, Connor and North explain the eight count and the basic steps of the Cha-cha. The class positions itself in lines and slowly repeats the moves. Every now and then, Connor and North encourage their students to keep going while they walk around, gently correcting postures and missteps.

The women are, as per usual, the fastest to improve. Connor notes that they are not staring at him or drooling, either out of a sense of professionalism or simply from a lack of interest. Either way, he is thankful there won’t be any thirsty rich ladies making googly eyes at him this lesson. 

One of the male officers tenses up the second Connor touches him in an attempt to straighten out his posture. When he gets a closer look at the man he realizes it’s the one who interrupted him during the introduction. Connor gets a sick sort of satisfaction from getting to adjust his step. The man seems to be split second away from shoving him off, but he seems to think better of it, simply clenching his jaw. 

It all goes pretty okay, he thinks and confirms it when he and North check in on each other during the water break. 

“They’re far politer than the lawyers from last year,” North muses, reluctantly.

Connor turns his water bottle upside down, chugging down the entire thing and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Their boss seems like a reasonable guy, too.” 

He nods to the large man in the middle of the group, encouraging and slapping them on their sweaty backs. Their captain, Fowler, if he isn’t mistaken.

North stretches her arms over her head, twists her neck to the sides and then calls on the students to pair up.

That’s when the door to the dance studio creaks open and a man walks in. A flicker, okay, a current, of irritation runs through Connor. It’s such rude conduct, to show up in the middle of class and act like he owns the place. Not even apologizing. He shares a commiserating look with North who shows her teeth. 

“Anderson, get your sorry ass over here!” one of the officers calls and the man flips him off. 

Connor has a polite speech of welcome ready to go. He doesn’t have time to give it since Anderson walks up to him and offers a firm handshake, apologizing for coming late. He bows his head with a chagrined smile. 

“It’s all right,” Connor says as there is nothing else he can do.

“I’ll go stand in the back and try to catch up,” Anderson says and shuffles away to the back of the room. 

“Listen up, class!” North claps her hands. “We’ll begin in pairs now. We’re more guys than gals in the room, so pair up as far as it goes and the rest will practice the steps. I’ll help you there, and then we’ll switch. Gentlemen, right hand on your lady’s back, left hand up and to the side, right, yes exactly! Ladies, left hand goes on your partner’s shoulder…” 

They let them practice together for about twenty minutes. Connor breaks it off every so often, sometimes to switch partners, sometimes to show more advanced steps for those who feel up to the challenge. 

When it’s time for their next part of the schedule, Connor feels a thrill run down his spine. This is the part he and North have spoken of before, discussing whether they could actually get away with it. He glances over at North and they share a conspiratorial grin. 

“Great job everybody! Now, before the class is over, we want you to pair off with someone you haven’t danced with before. This time, we want you to switch roles. That is, if you led before, now you follow, and vice versa. Ladies, find yourself a man to lead. Since we’re a lot of men here, some of you will be dancing with other men. Don’t let it scare you. It’s going to be fun, let’s go!”

Connor tries to read the faces of the people in class. This is uncharted territory for him. Some of the men get visibly embarrassed, but don’t dare comment on it. The captain is one of the men that seem unfazed, perhaps even finding this exercise fun. He grabs one of the police officers and tells him to lead, laughing when the cop immediately gets flustered putting his hands on his captain.

The late guy, Anderson, still hangs back, waiting for people to finish pairing up. The asshole guy that flinched at Connor’s instructions earlier ends up with him. 

“All right, Gavin,” Connor hears Anderson mutter. “Let’s get this over with. You wanna lead?” 

Gavin looks to the sides, up at the ceiling and down at the floor. He is bright red in his face. Great, we officially have the first homophobe of the summer, Connor thinks bitterly. 

“Fuck off, I’m not dancing with an old fuck like you,” Gavin bites off, and some of their coworkers turn their head, then roll their eyes. 

Anderson, still with his hands outstretched in an invite, raises his eyebrows.

“Is that a fucking coward I hear?” he asks in challenge. 

Gavin scowls and Connor thinks he should intervene, maybe split them up, because apparently these two do not mix well together.

“Hey, fuck you! I won’t dance with a dude, you fag-”

It seems Gavin wants to take the word back as soon as he has yelled it, because he immediately shuts up, shrinking in place as the captain shouts his name in a way that means he’s already on thin ice. A ball of anxiety curls into Connor’s chest as he observes what the police department is going to do. Everyone goes quiet for just a second, before Anderson sighs.

“We get it, big macho man. No homo, whatever. Just shut your fuckin’ mouth and do the damn Cha-cha with me.”

The tension dissipates as the officers chuckle at Anderson’s comment, and the ridicule stops Gavin from protesting. He sheepishly takes Hank’s hand and stares down at the floor all the while.

Connor hears Anderson say, amusement in his voice, “I guess sensitivity training last week was lost on you, huh?” 

He subtly turns to look Anderson’s way and catches the mortified glare on Gavin's face.

Connor and North walk around the room, checking on the progress of the couples. There is a lot of shuffling and awkward smiles and stepping on toes. Some couples stick out especially, swearing loudly and jumping back every other step to yell something unflattering. All right, it’s one couple. Anderson and Gavin are making quite the scene and the other couples keep a wide berth. Connor suppresses a sigh and walks up.

Then he pauses.

Anderson is actually doing the steps right, despite getting no guidance whatsoever from his leader. Connor stops himself from cutting in to show what they’re doing wrong and just watches them, dance is not the right word… struggle. Gavin keeps trying to push off Anderson into spins that they haven’t covered yet, and don’t really belong in the Cha-cha. Anderson is countering with some gruff noises and not-so-gentle shoves.

“It’s good, Mr. Anderson,” Connor says, finally cutting in. “You’ve got some moves there. Mr. Gavin, perhaps you should try to focus on the basic steps-”

He doesn’t really get to finish as Gavin pushes away from Anderson, face red like a tomato and scowling.

“Whatever,” he mutters and crosses his arms.

Anderson lowers his arms and looks at Connor a little accusatory. Connor feels bad. Perhaps they were actually getting the hang of it and Connor just embarrassed them both, breaking their rhythm.

“I’m sorry, please try again,” he offers.

Anderson grimaces but offers his hand to Gavin who scoffs but takes it after another second of staring angrily at it.

Connor takes a step back to look. They’re doing worse now. Anderson seems to have lost all sense of the beat and Gavin isn’t even lifting his feet. Connor breathes quietly.

“All right, try to take out the steps a bit there, Mr. Anderson,” Connor says and comes up behind him, showing gently with his hands on Anderson’s shoulders where he wants him to go.

Anderson tenses under his hands and Connor steps back again. He walks around them to Gavin. He counts the beat for him, doing the steps next to him to show. Gavin still barely lifts his feet, gritting his teeth. His posture is terrible and Connor shushes his inner voice, the distinct tone of his former dance teacher, that wants to scream at Gavin to straighten up.

“Here,” he offers and puts a hand on Gavin’s bicep to guide it. “Up a bit.” Gavin stiffens. Connor notices and resolutely doesn’t remove it until Gavin relents and moves it into a slightly better position. “Good. Now look up from the floor,” he says gently and resists moving Gavin’s chin with his hands. “You dance with a partner and you can’t do it without him,” he insists when Gavin stubbornly looks down. “Look at him.”

Connor lets his gaze drift over to Anderson’s and catches him looking back. Connor tries to smile encouragingly but Anderson grimaces and looks away. He’s not moving to the music.

“Try to find the rhythm together. The steps don’t have to be perfect but you need to listen to the music.”

Gavin scoffs and shuffles some more. Anderson makes a small attempt at finding the beat but soon gives up. Connor regrets walking over. He glances behind him at North who’s showing another pair a couple of new steps. He doesn’t want to bother her. He clenches his jaw and turns back to the odd pair before him.

“All right, Mr. Gavin, step back a bit and watch. Mr. Anderson, if you’ll allow me?” he asks and turns to Anderson, offering him a hand.

He is staring at him like he can’t decide between laughing and running away. Then he takes Connor’s hand and falls smoothly into the correct position.

“Very good posture,” Connor praises and enjoys the small flush growing on Anderson’s face. “Now, look here where I hold my hand on his back,” Connor says, directing his words at Gavin. He places his hand on Anderson’s back with enough pressure to let him push back into it. “Your hand is the support for your partner. Move with purpose so your partner knows where you want to take them.”

With that he takes two preparing steps, which his partner follows gracefully, then presses them into a tight spin, holding him securely against himself. Anderson lets out a surprised whoosh of air as they spin together. Connor can admit to himself he is a little surprised at just how well. They come to a standstill and look at each other. This close he can see just how blue his eyes are. For a moment, Connor forgets that they’re in class and enjoys the feel of Anderson’s large hands embracing him. His stature is far more impressive up close.

“You follow really well for a man of your… tallness,” Connor manages to get out when he lets go. It ends up coming out like more of a question than anything.

Anderson gives him a strange look. Then he steps away, putting his hands in his pockets. Connor catches himself and turns his head to Gavin.

“See what I mean, Mr. Gavin?” Connor asks. 

Gavin grunts. 

“It’s Reed.”

“Huh?”

“My name’s Gavin Reed.”

Connor nods, swallowing in mortification. It feels like under normal circumstances Reed would add a _dipshit_ to that sentence.

“My bad, Mr. Reed.”

He and Reed look awkwardly at each other for a moment. Anderson is still doing his best to look interested in the ceiling tiles. 

When North finally calls out for the end of class, Connor thinks he’s not the only one who breathes a sigh of relief. 

***

TUESDAY **JULY 14TH** , 2020 - PM **12:19** :28

“You need me to beat someone up?” Markus asks calmly when Connor throws himself onto the chair opposite him. 

His salad is going to get too warm and gooey the longer they sit outside in the sun, but it’s such nice weather that they can’t help but crowd with the other hundred-something people in the garden café area. As per usual, Markus sees through Connor’s calm facade. It feels good that he doesn’t have to verbally express his discomfort before Markus picks up on it. However, Connor has rarely felt so useless as a teacher and is not keen on explaining his failure to Markus. 

Then he remembers the way Anderson put Reed in his place and grins.

“It’s okay, he got his ass handed to him,” he says casually, and his very conscious choice to swear makes Markus laugh. “North was not happy, though. A week full of classes with nothing but cops.” 

Truth is, he doesn’t know why North got so tense with the DPD in the classroom, but Markus’ sympathetic frown tells him there’s something there.

“She has her reasons, Connor,” Markus murmurs and Connor doesn’t push it. Markus has known North a lot longer than him, and she isn’t one to share her backstory anyway. “What happened?” 

His voice is tense. Connor knows what he’s asking. In a perfect world it’s something he would never have to ask.

“No, nothing like that,” he is quick to reassure.

Then he gets to retell the moment, with relish. It will be stored away in his mind as one of the fondest memories from here. Markus nearly chokes on his food at Connor’s imitation of Reed’s face.

In the middle of his reenactment, Josh joins them and plops down with a sandwich. Connor quickly fills him in. Josh motions for him to continue and takes an inhumanly large bite of his sandwich, sufficiently muted for the rest of it. Connor finishes up his story and laughs along with the others.

“Where’s North?” Josh asks after what looks like a painful swallow.

“She had to blow off some steam,” Connor shrugs.

They switch subject to the talent show coming up. It’s a silly thing for the families who want to show off their kids. Two brothers have signed up for a tap dance routine, and Markus has promised to accompany them on piano, something he’s exorbitantly excited about. 

“At least you’re happy about participating,” Connor mumbles and the others look up at him. “North has been complaining since they put the schedule up.”

This year Connor and North will perform at the end of the show, when the children have gone to bed and the adults finally get to dance and drink. 

“I thought she loved showing off her skills,” Josh interjects. “Are you gonna eat that?” he continues, motioning for Connor’s carrot sticks.

Connor shakes his head, “Have at it.” He watches Josh eat for a bit before continuing, “It's not that she doesn’t love it, it’s just we’re already doing the end of week performances and with this new routine and all the extra classes, we’re swamped.”

Josh hums compassionately through munching.

It’s encouraged by their manager that Connor and North ask people to dance after their routine, preferably their students attending. It’s important for the guests at the hotel to feel seen and appreciated. It doesn’t stop it from being exhausting and sometimes downright annoying.

Connor decided last summer to invite people to a sort of line dance routine, instead. It had mixed results.

Josh and Markus are halfway through a discussion of this year’s lack of kids doing theater, much to Josh’s chagrin. He signed up for this gig back when the theater was more prioritized and the kids were in line to get a glimpse of the hotel’s prop shed. Last year, Josh led a reenactment of Rapunzel with ten eight year olds who all wanted to be the prince. It was a hysterical performance that still makes Connor laugh, especially the part when Josh had to play a dragon afraid of heights. 

They are interrupted by a familiar voice that echoes from inside the restaurant.

“Connor!” 

The sweet, calming tone of Kara Williams’s voice calls him, and the surprise is enough to get him out of the chair. He turns to his neighbor back home and they meet halfway in a hug.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, half annoyed, half worried that she has come to the hotel without even telling him. “You should have called me!” 

Kara smiles apologetically, “I’m sorry, Connor. It- It was a last minute decision. We’re staying at the Sunrise apartments.” 

Her eyes flicker between him and Markus and Josh, who smile warmly at her from the table, Markus waving his fork.

“We? You mean you and...?” 

Connor hasn’t met Luther yet, but he has seen some pictures of him, after nagging Kara for about a week. He’s model gorgeous. She doesn’t talk much about him though, as if scared that Connor would find something about him to criticize. 

All Connor can say about him, besides the fact that he is one tall drink of water, is the small changes in Kara since she has started seeing this guy. She smiles more.

“The three of us, actually,” she says and something in her face shifts. 

Connor frowns and only then notices the girl standing a few feet behind her. She is short, like most children are, with dark brown hair tied in a braid down her back. She looks uncomfortable, he thinks, until Kara turns around and the girl starts smiling.

“Alice, this is Connor, my friend,” Kara says, motioning for Alice to greet Connor.

Alice.

“Hey, kid!” Connor smiles and stretches out his hand to shake. She takes it tentatively and relaxes a little. “I heard so much about you from your big sister. It’s good to finally meet you.” 

The words make Alice smile, which causes Connor to smile even wider. She’s still quiet, though.

“Hi,” she murmurs.

“She’s, um, she’s a little tired from the trip. We’re gonna go get some food and then maybe get settled in our room. I just wanted to find you, first,” Kara smiles. 

The tension in her eyes sets something off in Connor’s mind. Her eyes twitch, just a little, but Connor thinks he can figure out enough of the reason that Kara came here, unannounced. He wants to ask her, _is it your dad?_ But Alice is right there and he’s unsure of what to say. Instead, he reaches his hand up to her new pixie cut.

“I barely recognized you. It looks good,” he says, in a voice that he hopes conveys his meaning, _I want to help you if you’re in trouble._ “You should come to the talent show tomorrow.” He looks down to Alice, smiles, “Hey, maybe you could teach me some of your moves, Alice?” 

He is rewarded by her sweet, genuine smile, her shyness forgotten. 

“Yeah, I wanna dance like you, Connor! Will you spin me? Kara, can we go?” She pulls at Kara’s arm enthusiastically and her sister tells her that maybe, yes they could go for a short while. 

Markus and Josh wave to them when they leave, smiling.

Connor sits back down, starts to pick at the tomatoes in his salad, his mind spinning. 

The break is over too soon and they stand up to leave their plates in the kitchen. Connor’s mind switches between figuring out how to teach Anderson to dance, and what to do about Kara, when Markus turns and immediately knocks into one of the cleaning staff. When Connor turns around to see who Markus just slobbered down with pasta sauce, he has to hide his own grin. Josh doesn’t bother covering up his laugh and shares an amused look with Connor. Markus’ face turns deep red when he bends down to help the poor guy, Simon, up from the floor. Connor has only talked to Simon a handful of times, when he has come in early to clean the studio, but the guy is awfully sweet and has a cute face. Markus could do far worse.

“Oh no, I’m so-so sorry!” Markus sputters, uncharacteristically nervous, attempting to brush off the tomato sauce from Simon’s uniform, like it’s flour and not liquid already set into his clothes. 

“I’m sorry, didn’t see you there,” Simon smiles apologetically. “Oh no, don’t worry, I can take care of it!” he insists politely.

Markus seems to realize that his plate and cutlery are still on the ground at the same time as Simon and they both bend down simultaneously and Markus accidentally knocks Simon in his chin when he stands up. Simon wobbles and protects his face from the pain, while Markus blunders through apologies. Connor has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop giggling while he and Josh walk inside, leaving Markus behind.

“Don’t,” Markus says, his voice clipped, when he joins them later. “Not. A word.” 

It only makes Connor’s giggles burst into fits of laughter, made worse by his friend’s embarrassed scowl as they make their way back to work.

***

TUESDAY **JULY 14TH** , 2020 - PM **03:37** :02

“All right, everyone, quiet down!”

The voice is loud enough for the large group of the sometimes really focused and coordinated policemen (but usually just a bunch of rambunctious idiots) to listen up and gather around the guy. He’s fit, like they all seem to be, and Hank tries not to let it bother him. Maybe it’s a requirement if you want to work here. He takes a few moments to imagine the job listing. Something along the lines of: “Are you young, fit and really good looking? Do you have more energy than is legally allowed? Do you also have skills in really random shit like fire making, the Rumba and theater for kids? Then we’re looking for you!”

Hank snorts quietly under his breath. He clears his throat when he sees Ben look at him questioningly.

“We hope you’ve settled in all right,” the guy is saying. “We know the beds are a little hard, the sun a little hot and mosquitoes a little bitey but we promise, it’s something we’re working on and we think you’ll see a vast improvement in just about a week.”

A low rumble of appreciative chuckles is heard from the group and Hank rolls his eyes.

“My name is Josh, for those of you that forgot, or didn’t bother to listen during yesterday's introductions.” More chuckles. “I’m here to help you have a happy, wholesome and, most importantly, hot, week of fun. We’re going to be doing some team building games,” a few groans interrupt the speech, “because it’s stipulated in the agreement that we have to.”

Some fools are still laughing but Hank feels very uncomfortable now. It has been years since he had to really participate in these kinds of things. If he remembers correctly it’s going to involve a lot of touching, a lot of awkwardness and a lot of sharing personal stuff. All things he has successfully avoided for several years now.

“To help in this daunting task,” Josh is saying, “I have my colleague, Markus, with me.”

He gestures to another guy Hank can vaguely remember seeing around the resort. What bothers Hank about this is the fact that Markus has a guitar strapped across his back and he’s smiling in the cheerful way that tells Hank he’s going to make them do things they won’t like.

“Markus is the resort musician. Give him any instrument and he will play it-”

“I play the piano and the guitar. That’s it,” Markus cuts in.

“He will play it,” Josh goes on, unperturbed. “We can’t guarantee quality but he’s the best we’ve got.” Markus makes a dramatic wounded gesture and Josh slaps him on the back. “I have it on good authority he’s working on his skills diligently, mostly during the night when his roommates are trying to sleep. And when I say good authority, I mean several eye witness accounts, recordings and a bunch of instruments in evidence-”

The police are getting in the spirit, laughing and cheering. Hank recognizes a good bit when he sees one. If it wasn’t for the looming threat of oncoming games he would probably be laughing with them.

Soon enough - too soon - Josh talks them through the warmup, “to loosen up and relax”. For every new game, Hank can feel himself tensing up further. As they’re doing the Knot, where they’re supposed to untangle themselves from each other by stepping through their looped arms and legs, Josh circles around them, probably attempting to be helpful with much too joyful cheering and advice. When Josh guides him through a hoop between Gavin and Tina by putting his hands on Hank’s shoulders, Hank flinches so hard he almost blows out his back.

Josh doesn’t try to help him again. 

When it seems their warmup is coming to a close, Hank hopes in vain that this will be the end of it. This hope is dashed almost immediately when Markus starts strumming his guitar and Josh gathers them up in a circle again.

“All right, it’s time for the highlight of this exercise,” Josh says and Hank almost up and walks away.

Almost.

The other guys are enjoying themselves, it seems, joking amongst each other, shoving playfully and all around acting like teenagers. Josh’s games have worked-

Then the music changes from random string-pulling to a melody most of them recognizes and a stillness comes over the group.

“Just a small musical number you’ll all get to perform at tomorrow night’s talent show,” Josh says and Hank is not imagining the evil grin spreading on his face. ”Just kidding,” he winks. The group laughs in relief. 

Markus’ voice is clear as a bell as he starts singing:

“Let’s start at the very beginning-”

No. Nononono. No.

“A very good place to start-”

Absolutely not.

“When you read you begin with-

Josh answers, “ABC”.

“When you sing you begin with do-re-mi.”

Hank is somewhat relieved to see that the rest of the group has also shrunk in on itself. Even Fowler looks hesitant. Hank vaguely feels his soul leaving his body.

“I think you know this one,” Josh is saying and people are shaking their heads. “Oh yes you do! Do-re-mi.”

Markus keeps singing, “Do-re-mi. The first three notes just happen to be do-re-mi.”

People are starting to glance at each other, unsure. This isn’t really happening, is it? They’re not being asked to sing Do Re Mi from The Sound of Music, right?

Markus is still playing the guitar, singing, beautifully, Hank can admit, but not the point. Then, like the betrayer of all betrayers, someone in the squad joins in.

“Do-re-mi.”

Then somebody else. And another. Hank feels like dying.

What follows is half an hour of ungodly exercise in singing, dancing, coordination and cues. It is nowhere near pretty but everyone keeps on laughing. They walk into each other, cutting in too early or too late. When they get a harmony going, it’s a roar of no finesse or grace. Josh and Markus keep smiling. 

When the nightmare finally ends, Josh gathers them up again and thanks them. He is explaining the benefits of cooperation, of expanding horizons, of singing and dancing. The group seems cheerful enough. Hank isn’t really listening. He’s looking forward to going back to his room and laying down and staring at the ceiling, working hard to forget this entire afternoon.

***

TUESDAY **JULY 14TH** , 2020 - PM **06:53** :39

Josh and Markus are swimming and splashing water in each other’s faces, shrieking in a high-pitched way that they will deny later. Connor is doing the dishes after Markus’ staple dinner, couscous with dried fruits and nuts - a meal that, while delicious, ends up all over the kitchen once Markus is finished. Connor is not complaining, though. He hates cooking and thinks it’s only fair to be the one to clean up afterwards.

Josh has placed their portable speakers on the porch, blasting music loud enough to carry to the shore and the bass vibrates through the walls. It’s a nice, lazy afternoon that is really needed, Connor thinks, taking a sip of his lemonade. The week so far has been exceptionally warm with clear skies, which is nice during breaks, and nightmarish at work. 

He dries the last plate and thinks that maybe he’ll have time to actually sit outside and bask in the evening sun, perhaps going in for some deep stretching and force Josh to join him in a yin yoga session.

The speakers make the beeping noise indicating that another mobile unit has connected. By the sounds coming from the beach, North has just come back from work. She immediately switches from the heavy beats to a song everybody recognizes, and that everyone knows the meaning of. She grins wickedly when Connor turns from the sink in the kitchen, horror creeping up on him, as he recognizes the familiar tune of brass instruments.

“No, no, don’t tell me--” he begs. At the same time that the singers blurt it out, North picks up the colorless flask out of the plastic bag in her hand,

“ _TEQUILA!”_

Connor groans, but he hears Markus and Josh, from outside, cheering. North wiggles the bottle in her hand. 

“We have work tomorrow!” Connor complains.

“And it’s the summer!” North laughs. “Loosen up, Connor.”

“Do you remember last time?”

“I don’t. What’s your point?” she smirks and sticks out her tongue. "C'mon, Connor, if we're gonna be stuck with a bunch of cops all week, at least let me have my fun!" 

She squeezes between Connor and the pantry, digging up old, mismatched shot glasses. When she starts pouring into the small glasses Josh and Markus enter the living room, dragging their wet towels through the door. Connor grinds his teeth at the thought of all the sand and pine needles their dirty feet just shuffled inside.

"Bad day, huh?" Josh laughs when North digs out the limes from her bag. 

She rolls her eyes.

"We had a guy yell the F-word in the middle of class," she grumbles. 

Josh frowns, "So we heard. At least his colleague put him in place, right?"

"Yeah, at least one of them sounds reasonable."

_Until a guy who looks decidedly not-straight dances with him, then he can't get out of there fast enough_ , Connor thinks sourly. He's still put out about it.

"He's probably just insecure," he mutters, not interested in dwelling on the memory. "And you didn't have to deal with that insecurity, North."

"Well, I had to deal with the guys in the group that forgot to put deodorant on this morning, so," she answers as if that's that. 

Connor laughs along with his friends but his cheeks heat up. 

They start out on the porch outside, swatting mosquitoes like it’s going out of style until they have to surrender and hide in the house. They end up on the couch and on the floor. The tequila is forgotten after a couple of shots, thankfully, as Connor can already feel the heat in his face and belly. 

North deals the cards for another game of “Go fish” - or a version of the game where the players start yanking random cards from each other when they’re losing - while she retells the afternoon class where they had managed to get at least one pair to dance something resembling the Cha-cha. Connor thinks back to Anderson, whose form didn’t improve at all in the afternoon class, despite how many times he tried to show him the steps. It was as if he tried exceptionally hard to not try at all. Connor even gently tried to nudge at his hips to get him how he wanted it, which had only turned the poor man’s face beet red. It would have been cute, if it wasn’t for the jeers from some of the younger officers. Anderson told Connor to go help those that would actually get something out of it, which soured Connor’s mood until he could barely keep his professional smile up throughout the rest of the class.

He remembers, suddenly, the lunch incident and a smile grows on his lips when he decides to bring it up, turning the attention away from him onto the usually not-so-easily flustered Markus.

Markus gives him a betrayed look and denies everything.

“Oh no, don’t tell me it’s the same guy from last week,” North sighs. “You should just talk to him, ask him out!” 

Markus glares at her, despite the embarrassed flush on his face, “I barely know him, and he might not even be into--”

“Won’t know unless you ask,” North says.

“Simon!” Josh injects, realizing, finally, who they’re talking about. “He’s the one who’s up at the crack of dawn teaching yoga. We've run into each other during morning jogs so often we’ve started running together. He's nice!” 

North scoffs, as if “nice” is a terrible way to describe someone. 

Markus smiles hopefully, “He does yoga?”

“And jogging too!” North smirks with a pointed smile at Connor, who knows just as well as her that their friend is about as athletic as Mr. Crane that instructs the filmmaking workshops. 

A terrible song starts playing, and North and Josh sing along mockingly,

“ _I know what boys like!”_

“Shut up!” Markus blushes and Connor almost feels bad for him. Almost.

“ _-I know what guys want--”_

At eleven, Markus takes up the role of parent and bullies his friends into bed, despite the fun they’re having. Connor has to be up in less than six hours for yoga, and feels fatigue run through him at the thought. His friends protest loudly, but their sluggish movements tell a different story, each of them too tired to actually put up a fight. Markus informs them that he hears yoga is supposed to be good for your heart, that maybe he'll join in the morning to see what the fuss is about. No one is fooled.

Connor lies awake for a while, staring up into the ceiling. He thinks of Anderson again. He should really figure out what his first name is. It sounds so stupid to refer to someone by their last name. 

Hating to admit it to himself, Connor knows that Anderson ticks all of his boxes. He has a type, all right. The man is older, has this silver fox-thing going for him. He’s tall. Looks well-muscled, like he could lift Connor right up without breaking much of a sweat. His shaggy beard and unruly hair aside, he has a handsome face, with a straight, Roman nose and piercing blue eyes. Connor remembers that smirk when he told Reed off. 

Then he also remembers that Anderson must be at least twenty years older than him. Also, with his luck, he’s probably straight as well.

Damn.

***

TUESDAY **JULY 14TH** , 2020 - PM **10:47** :16

Hank hasn’t been to one of these places in… Damn, at least ten years. The scene isn’t that different from before, the major change being the hairstyles. Drag is still in, he notes as he walks past two gorgeous blondes in five-inch heels. 

He’s not looking for anything and he’s not sure if he’s even allowed in a place like this. The tension in his shoulders eases when he looks around and finds no one is glaring at him or wondering what the hell he’s doing here. Instead, flatteringly, he notices the tall guy in the coat room giving him an appreciative once-over. 

The bar still catches his eye. So does the bartender, but in a different way. He recognizes the blond hair, the blue eyes. He’s cleaning staff at the hotel, Hank thinks. The one with the thermometer.

Music blares through the speakers and he finds a corner by a standing table where he takes his sparkling water. Best not to push his luck by ordering a non-alcoholic beer. It’s not the same and will only make him want a real one.

The dances are modern, but he can’t see any real difference between these moves and the ones he used to do in his youth. He sighs, wondering where his hot-shot thirty year old self has gone. Oh, that’s right, he left with the pecks and a dead son. 

A young couple walks by with colorful drinks. Hank has to hold his glass, fidgeting compulsively to stop himself from marching right up to the bar.

A man around his age shows up, leaning one arm on the table. He looks put-together, hair dyed in blond streaks and a stud in one ear. Despite the fact that Hank is not in any way interested in getting laid tonight, it feels good to be desired, if only for a moment before the guy realizes that he has hit a dead end and leaves to find someone willing. They talk for a little while, the guy sneaking a hand over Hank’s arm, doing the act of being surprised when feeling his bicep, as if there’s still any muscle mass left there.

He should start doing pushups again.

Eventually, Hank feels bad and has to tell the man that he’s not interested, which, like predicted, turns the man back to the dance floor after a polite goodbye. 

It seems to be Hank’s cue to go home - late nights never turn into good mornings, even if you haven’t been on a bender the night before.

He finishes his drink, grimacing in disappointment that it hasn’t miraculously turned into a dark lager. As he makes his way to the exit, he is distracted by a man in line to the bathrooms. Or rather, the back of a man’s head. He has short, dark brown hair and a smart, ironed shirt. Feeling brave after the attention he got before, he walks up and taps the man on his shoulder. 

“Connor?”

The man turns and, no, it’s not him. The lack of freckles should have been a dead giveaway even before he turned around to glare at Hank. Disappointment churns in his stomach and he’s not yet pathetic enough to start dwelling on why that is. 

He apologizes clumsily and walks towards the exit. Like he would find a posh guy like Connor in a place like this.

When Hank has finally got into his car and turns down the road back to the resort, he feels the strain of the day catch on. He’s so damn tired. The dance classes were terrible - mainly because he could feel just how fun it could have been if he had been there on time. Truth is, he used to love dancing in his youth. Used to go to Salsa clubs with his first boyfriend in college - and while that relationship only lasted about a month, the visits to the clubs got more frequent. Dancing became his new hobby outside of studies and, later, work. Even into his thirties he kept dancing, anything that caught his eye - Tango, Bachata, Mambo, you name it.

He has never been anywhere near as good as the instructors at the resort. It makes him wonder what he has lost in these past years, being nearly paralyzed by his own grief.

Maybe he should start taking more classes here, and then maybe sign up for late night courses, or hell, even online courses can be accessed nowadays.

He’s planning his strategy in the car when he catches sight of a person walking alongside the road.

Startled out of his thoughts, he slows down the vehicle, leaning closer to the dashboard and tries to see who it is. It’s a girl, or a woman, walking barefoot on the asphalt, high heels in her hand. She looks cold in the short dress, her arm hugging her sides protectively. Hank tries to reason why she would be out here this late, alone in the middle of fucking nowhere. He hopes she isn’t on something, though it’s pretty likely given that no person in their right mind would walk all this way.

He opts to steer closer to the middle of the road, car crawling up next to her. 

“Hey.”

It makes her jump, the heels in her hand bumping against her arms. Great, now he has scared her. She looks so young, probably no more than eighteen, he wagers. Pale, average height, blonde hair tied in a ponytail. Terrified eyes stare back at him, wide and unsure.

“You need help?” Hank asks, because he does not like the idea of the girl walking alone with nothing but the woods and fields around her. “Are you hurt?”

She still keeps her arms close to herself, but she shakes her head. Hank sees she’s trembling and fears that someone else might stop their car to 'help' her. Call it a hunch from a homicide detective who has seen too many young girls and women brutally murdered on the side of the road, but in that moment he feels like he _knows_ something bad is going to happen if he doesn’t offer to help.

“I’m Hank. What’s your name?” he says and notices the way the girl’s eyes flicker indecisively between him and the road ahead. 

He can’t blame her for hesitating. If he wasn’t the one behind the wheel he would never in a million years encourage any woman to get in a car with a man she doesn’t know. 

“Chloe,” the girl murmurs finally, stopping but not looking at him. 

Hank digs into the inner pocket of his leather jacket and pulls out his badge. Chloe observes the badge apprehensively.

“Sergeant Anderson from the Detroit Police, homicide department.” 

This somehow makes Chloe more nervous.

“I’m-I… Officer, I haven’t done anything!” she stammers, shying back.

“‘m not here to arrest you, just offering a safe ride home.” She hesitates. He continues, “Look, I’m not gonna force you, but it’s a long way to walk in the middle of the night. You staying at Rose Beach Resort Hotel, too? I have to share the tiniest fucking room with the biggest asshole on the planet. I swear, his snores could wake up the entire building in the morning.” 

Chloe stands still. Probably measuring the risks in her head. Then she seems to make up her mind, pulling open the passenger door and tentatively sits down. She looks so scared, and while Hank only wants to get her home safely, he feels like a dirty old perv, picking up young women in the middle of the night. 

“It’s right nearby,” she says quietly.

In the light of the car he notices just how much she’s shivering, so he blasts up the heat despite the fact that he’s still steaming from the club, then reaches into the backseat where he has left an old grey sweatshirt. It’s probably not clean and way too big for her, but when he offers her an extra layer of clothing, she gratefully accepts it and quickly pulls it on. 

“So, do you know the way when we get closer to the hotel?” he asks as he rears up the engine, accelerating back onto the road. 

“Yes. It’s on the west side. Just keep going.”

“All right.”

It’s quiet for a moment, though apparently Chloe seems calm enough to start fiddling with the radio, switching between channels until she finds one with soft eighties music. Hank thinks about the parents, how he himself would feel if she was his daughter, walking alone in the dark. Then Cole pops up in his mind and the fact that he’ll never get to wait up for him in the night. Ground him. Have the talk with him. 

The abyss opens up again. He steps back from it. Comes back to the present.

The beat carries them for another ten minutes until Hank finally has to ask,

“What the hell are you doing out here in the middle of the night?” He restrains himself from yelling. “And alone at that,” he mutters under his breath.

He takes a quick side glance at Chloe, who frowns. 

“I-I was seeing some friends.”

“Huh.”

“Yup,” Chloe says stubbornly, crossing her arms across her chest. Then she quickly adds, “They. Um. They had to leave early.”

“None of them going your way?” She is hiding something, he thinks. 

Chloe is quiet for a second. Then, “And what the hell were _you_ doing out here alone, Mr. Anderson?” 

It makes Hank bark out a laugh.

“Right. I-um…” He considers what to say. Then thinks, _Ah, fuck it._ “I just got out of ‘The Tunnel’. It’s the…” He clears his throat and forces it out, “It’s the gay club.” 

His fucking cheeks burn. It didn’t feel half as embarrassing coming out in his twenties. 

Chloe reacts, but not in any way he expected to. 

“You’re gay, too?” she asks, and she sounds so goddamn happy. “Or, you know--”

“Bi,” Hank smiles. 

In the periphery of his vision, he sees Chloe is grinning from ear to ear.

"Wow. I've never met a bi cop before." 

Hank snorts at the comment. 

Then he notices her turning her head to the window.

“My parents think it’s just a phase. I thought… I thought there was something wrong with me until I heard there was this place in town. Told them I was going to the movies with some of my new friends here.”

Her voice trails off. Hank adds the pieces together.

“So you went to a gay club for the first time on your own?” he asks, trying not to sound like he’s judging her. Really, it just sounds like a sad way to enter the LGBT space. Not that he should talk, after tonight. “You can’t be old enough to get in!”

“I’m twenty-one, thank you very much!” Chloe bristles. 

So that’s apparently a sore spot. “Look, I wasn’t gonna do anything, just… check it out. It was fun.”

"I'm sorry, don't mean to pry. It's an occupational hazard,” he jokes, haphazardly. 

Fun.

Hank doesn’t say anything for a moment or two. He thinks about his teenage years, when he was terrified people would suspect him to be gay. How even now he has to be on his guard before he outs himself, lest he has to defend his right to just exist. Chloe is obviously not out, and yet she already knows how much damage this fear can cause. 

“This world is a fucked up place. And there’s _nothing_ wrong with you,” Hank says, with as much force he can muster. 

He can feel Chloe’s eyes on him. 

“Thank you.”

He shrugs, trying to force down the swell of emotions pressing at his chest. It’s not long before they reach Chloe’s house.

“It’s on the left side. That one,” Chloe points across Hank’s seat and out his window.

It’s definitely in the fancier parts, a house big enough to fit ten of his and Gavin’s rooms. He stops the car, turns off the engine and turns to Chloe, while she unclasps the seat belt.

“You gonna be all right?” he asks, and it’s not so much a question about this night. 

Chloe gives him a small smile, “Yeah. Thanks again for the ride, sergeant.”

“Fuck. Just Hank, please.”

“Fine, thanks Hank. And for the record,” she stops when she’s out of the car and looks back at him, “There’s nothing wrong with you either.” 

Then she shuts the door and waves goodbye. Hank lifts his hand from the steering wheel in a small wave and watches until she has made her way inside.

Hank just sits there for a minute, a little shaken up by the situation. By the fact that the probability of a man picking up a woman just to drive her home without any ulterior motive is so unlikely that he would rather advise her to never ever accept that kind of help. That he can’t help but feel like he has seen her face on the examining table in the morgue countless times.

It’s enough to make him want to go back into town and buy a fucking bottle of scotch. Instead he drives back to his shared room. He takes Sumo on a walk and stays up another two hours in bed with one of the chick-lit books left in the bookshelf. Gavin snores loudly and doesn’t even move when Hank lies down on his side of the double bed. Hank reads until he can’t keep his eyes open. He falls asleep dreaming about the young interior designer Nina McGregor who, at thirty, just wants to find a hunky boyfriend in Manhattan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank: I don’t care why you’re out here, alone, barefoot in the middle of the night. I’m here to tell you that my roommate fucking sucks.  
> Chloe: *sincere* Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.
> 
> \--
> 
> Hank: hey   
> Hank: Hey you  
> Hank: turn aroooound Chloeee


	3. Wednesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'd just like to apologise in advance if you're a fan of Gavin. He's a dipshit and he will remain so in this story.

WEDNESDAY **JULY 15TH** , 2020 - AM **06:23** :05

_Hank knows it’s a dream but can’t be fucking assed to care about that, because right in this moment he's in his old kitchen making Cole's favourite dinner: bologna. His little boy is sitting on the counter, dangling his tiny legs, kicking against the kitchen cabinet with muffled thuds. His knees are scraped up from playing soccer on the field outside. Hank smiles as Cole whistles, a wheezy sounding thing because of his missing front tooth. He just figured out how to do it and takes any chance he gets to show his dad. He grins every time he manages to get it right, completely messing up the tune and Hank smiles, ruffles Cole’s hair. He looks through the cabinets, still remembering where they used to keep the spaghetti, while Cole starts talking about… About something. It doesn’t matter what the subject is, because Hank’s mind is remembering the voice, his inflection, and makes up the missing dialogue in his mind._

_It’s the best kind of dream, the kind he doesn’t ever want to wake up from. Cole babbles on and Hank allows his dream self to just… be happy._

Hank has the disturbing feeling that the day is gonna suck when he wakes up to the earth shattering snores on the other side of the bed. Gavin is spread out on his back, mouth open in a slack gap, drool dribbling down his chin; he’s all but dead to the world. Sunlight streams stubbornly through the thin curtains and heats the tiny bedroom to an unbearable temperature. One of Gavin’s knees is pressing uncomfortably into Hank’s back and he doesn’t have to wonder what woke him up when one of Gavin’s flailing hands smacks him in the face for what is definitely not the first time.

Hank gets out of the creaky bed, feeling his shirt soaked through and clinging to his skin. Sumo’s head perks up from the floor, his tail wagging carefully and then enthusiastically when he sees Hank is looking back. Hank stretches painfully and finds himself dizzy, his pulse erratic. He flexes his hands and feels them shake. 

It has been, what, two weeks since his last drink? 

The shakes are not fun. Even though his habit of drinking himself into a stupor only went on for so long, it has left its marks. He remembers how his own father used to be when he was still alive - the lies and the resentment, the slow deterioration of his mind and body. Then he makes an effort to be grateful that he probably dodged a full-blown, chronic addiction by deciding to cut back. 

The worst part of it is just how much he would love a double scotch right in this moment. Just a little something to soothe the breakdown of his body from the detox. 

He looks at his hands, observes the way they shudder and throb. There are no shortcuts. Just endure it.

_Give me the strength to accept what I cannot change, the courage to change what I can, and so on and so on_ , he mutters to himself. He grabs the biggest glass in the cupboard and chugs down two glasses of water. It is utter relief and yet not at all what he wants. He bends down and puts his sandals on. The shaking recedes just a little when he has something to do.

It seems as if the morning might take a turn for the better once they get outside. The air is just crisp enough to let him know the sun hasn’t risen yet; it is barely peeking through between the trees. 

Except Sumo is in one of his moods where everything excites him. 

He sniffs at every single tree and greets anyone in the near vicinity by sticking his nose in their crotches and almost bowling them over with his giant paws. He even barks at the ducks on the shore of Lake Huron who quack indignantly and flap away. Hank keeps a firm grip on his leash, lest they both take a plunge into the chilly water. Sumo is so energetic and playful that Hank once again is reminded of how much he has neglected his puppy in the past year. His poor dog has been put second on his priority list too many times to count and Hank tries to see this unplanned dog trip as a reminder to himself that he still has someone who needs him.

Being the loving, understanding beast that he is, Sumo turns from sniffing the grass and barks at Hank, snapping him out of it.

“Oh yeah, you wanna play?” Hank asks, surprised to hear his own voice in that high pitch, the one he only reserves for good boys. After a few fake throws, he releases the ball in his hand, lets the leash go and watches as the dog gallops down the path. Affection blooms in him at the sight of Sumo, and he grins.

Take that, depression!

***

WEDNESDAY **JULY 15TH** , 2020 - AM **06:56** :39

It’s in the last five minutes of yoga class that the sun begins to really scorch their backs. It's still early. The only people who are ready to get out of bed during vacation at this hour, only to sit on dew-stained mats in the early morning chill, are the retired folks.

Them, and Connor. 

Well, usually it’s only him with the old ladies and their grouchy husbands, but this morning he’s accompanied by Markus and Josh. He pretends that he isn’t bothered by the fact that Markus never showed interest in the practice before and only came here to ogle the instructor, Simon. He does understand where Markus is coming from, though. If Connor, for example, knew a certain police officer would be participating in a cricket tournament later that day, he would probably get himself a racket, or a bat he thinks vaguely, and stand in the front line, ready.

Connor gracefully pushes himself up from upward dog in a fluid motion, back to the downdog. He has in fact practiced yoga on and off for years and enjoys being one of the most knowledgeable in the group, earning smiles and encouragement from his instructor every class. The people in the back are doing their best to stay up on their hands without snapping a joint, while the experienced, and Markus, have taken the front spots closest to Simon. He is a good teacher, soft spoken and patient, and he helps his students hold their poses, making sure everyone sticks to their own limits. While they're holding the downdog he walks around and gently adjusts their stances. Connor sees Markus struggling to keep a nice form and not fall over. That guy is great at the piano and during show nights. Any physical activity that requires coordination, however…. It leaves something to be desired.

Still, that means Simon needs to go over his postures again and again, correcting with gentle hands at Markus' hips and back. Perhaps Markus is playing up just how bad he is.

A young blonde woman, dressed in yoga attire from a particularly expensive clothing brand, has taken the spot next to Connor. Her form is perfect, because of course it is. It’s almost as if she is trying to outshine Connor. She looks between Markus’ disastrous flirting and Connor, wiggles her eyebrows and gives him what she surely thinks is a covert, knowing smile. Connor smirks and rolls his eyes, as if to say, _I know, how obvious can he be, really_?

Simon is the only one who doesn’t notice that Markus never improves on any of the positions. Or, if he notices, he keeps it to himself. All throughout the class, he has been placing hands on Markus’ back, pressing his shoulders down, lifting his hands. Poor Markus. He has never been this besotted before. Connor experiences secondhand embarrassment just looking at the hearts in his eyes.

They finish the class around the time when most guests are leaving their lodges for breakfast in the main building. The students thank Simon for an uplifting class, and a couple of them stick around. Connor and Josh have no choice but to wait until Markus stops flirting. 

“They make a nice couple, don’t they?” the blonde girl chirps, stretching her arms. 

Connor tilts his head, observing his friend trying to get Simon to demonstrate another position for him. It’s a ridiculous display of Markus twisting into poses he has no business being in, waving his arms around madly and pointing at his hips and, in effect, his crotch. Connor closes his eyes to avoid the whole show.

“If he ever dares to ask him out,” he mutters and looks up in surprise when the girl laughs.

They are interrupted when North joins them, having marched down the lawn ready to bully Connor over to the dance studio. He makes a point of sitting down and continues to talk. He can tell North is agitated, probably due to her disastrous idea with the tequila last night. The blonde girl turns when North yells for Connor, and her face lights up.

"Oh, are you Connor's partner?" she asks in a delighted voice as North reaches them. "I saw you at last year's kick off show. You were brilliant!" 

Her eyes sparkle with delight. She is really pretty, Connor admits. He thinks North notices that too, because she closes her mouth before she can start ranting at him. She opens it again and it takes a second for any words to come out.

"Umm. Thank you," she mumbles, so unlike herself that Connor wants to smack his head. "His dance partner, not his… partner partner." She stiffly reaches out her hand, down to where the young woman is sitting, in an awkward half bend. “North.”

“I’m Chloe!”

Then something catches Chloe’s eye and she stands up, bright eyed. She waves her hands and shouts, the other yoga students turn their heads, scowling at her for ruining their zen moment, "Mr. Anderson!"

Connor stifles a giggle at the affronted looks from the older crowd in the back, but his smile falters when he sees who Chloe is waving at.

He recognizes the dirty blond-graying hair, now tied back in a bun with loose strands shielding his face, the slumped shoulders. But he does not remember the giant dog Anderson is walking. A Saint Bernard, he thinks and his heart speeds up. Whether from the dog or the person holding its leash is anyone’s guess. 

Anderson looks up, noticing them, and waves back awkwardly. Chloe skips over to him, cheerfulness practically exuding from her. Connor pretends that he isn't looking… But that's exactly what he's doing. He tries to read their expressions while stretching into a split on his mat, putting on his most serene, unassuming face.

North whistles low and crosses her arms, her eyes trained on Chloe. She says something and Connor gives her a non-committal hum, too concentrated to read the conversation over at the boardwalk. Chloe is all smiles while Anderson stiffly scratches his neck. They seem to know each other and the dog runs around her, sniffing and pushing at her legs with its big snout. Then Chloe points to where they have been practising and waves at Connor. He pretends to only now notice them and waves, as if he has been entirely focused on opening his hips, accidentally in Anderson’s general direction. No ulterior motive, here.

The dog notices and surprises its owner by completely breaking out of Anderson’s grip on the leash, rushing down the lawn to where Connor is sitting. It crashes into Markus, who's trying to perfect warrior three with helping hands from Simon. The boys collapse into the grass and laugh as the giant dog slobbers all over their faces. Anderson's voice can be heard from the beach, barking at his dog, Sumo, to come right back here. Sumo turns to his owner and then in an act of defiance, runs over to Connor. Connor scrambles to his feet. He likes dogs, but large, unleashed dogs that he doesn’t know can be scary when they blunder towards him.

He instinctively puts his hands up, which Sumo decides to lick. It tickles. Connor laughs then, and when the dog continues to wag his tail and pant he drags his hands through the thick fur. 

"You're so soft," he says quietly to Sumo and scratches behind his ears. “Such a good boy,” he coos, despite the fact that the dog just ran from his owner. Sumo tries to sniff his face and hair, panting bad doggy breath.

Chloe and Anderson finally catch up to them. Anderson pants like he just ran a marathon. Sumo looks pleased with his crime, spinning in circles with his tail wagging nonstop.

"Fuckin' puppy. I am so sorry," Anderson says, offering a hand to Markus, still sprawled across Simon's lap. Markus takes it reluctantly, no longer pressed against Simon on the grass. At least he gets to help Simon up by reaching out his hand, and Connor hopes Simon notices the way Markus draws him much, much closer than necessary when they’re both standing up. 

Sumo barks happily, and decides to test his owner's patience by jumping out of reach whenever he comes close to the leash. There’s an exasperated look on Anderson’s face, bordering on amusement. Finally the dog relents and allows Anderson to put it back on, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. Anderson drags him off to the side so the yogis can pack up their things and Connor bends down to roll up his mat. He hears Chloe gush at Sumo, scratching his back and making kissy noises.

"Are you two on your way to the restaurant, Miste-" Chloe starts, then clears her throat when he gives her a look, "... Hank?"

Hank.

His name is Hank.

"Yeah, soon as this princess here finally deems the ground worthy to shit on." 

Connor snorts, then coughs to cover it up.

Hank's voice is just as velvety as he remembers from the hours of dancing the other day. He looks tired today, though. Connor steals another glance their way.

The man's hands are shaking.

Chloe yelps suddenly and crouches to rummage around in her backpack, digging out a large sweatshirt, folds it neatly and hands it to Hank. Connor’s heartbeat picks up with Hank’s sheepish smile. Is that Hank’s shirt she’s handing over? A hollow sensation grows in his stomach.

“Thought I might see you today. Didn’t think to wash it beforehand though,” she says with an apologetic smile. 

“Hey, ’s no worries.”

“Still, thank you” Chloe smiles again. Hank grunts. “Anyway,” she continues when Hank says nothing else, and Connor is dying to know what it’s all about and also too afraid to ask, “we just finished our class. Wanna grab breakfast?” 

Her cheery voice grates on Connor’s nerves now. Hank scratches his beard for a second.

“Why don’t you go eat with your other friends instead, yeah? I’m sure I’ll see you around anyway.” He winks, actually _winks_ at her, and whistles for Sumo to go. 

Hank’s eyes briefly connect with his when Sumo leaves him to bustle over to his owner. Connor swallows, mouth dry.

“Have a nice day, Hank!” Chloe calls after him and he waves. “He’s a very nice man,” she states and smiles down at Connor. 

“Man, that was so…” Markus inhales dramatically through his nose as he comes up to Connor, “relaxing. Spiritual, you know?” 

Connor doesn’t know at first whether he’s joking or not, but at the seriousness on Markus’s face, he scoffs and forcefully rolls up his mat, unreasonably upset.

As they’re walking to breakfast, Connor can barely focus on his friends’ conversation. Josh is being friendly as ever, getting to know Chloe and trying to wingman a very flustered North, who’s alternating between staring straight ahead and staring at Chloe. Markus tries to discuss Simon with Connor, but all he can think about is that damn sweater.

***

WEDNESDAY **JULY 15TH** , 2020 - AM **10:09** :46

"It's not that hard, Connor!" North laughs at Connor's failed attempt to do the shuffle walk, but it is damn difficult to keep hopping on his feet in that clunky movement. 

They’re on their morning break, twenty minutes before the next class starts. The DPD have left the studio, sweating and laughing at each other’s inability to complete the basics of the Rumba. Hank was in the back as per usual and this time, Connor refused to walk up and help him. This was easier said and done, as some of the police officers decided to try other classes this week, resulting in a smaller, more concentrated group. 

Usually during their breaks, they go outside or lie down on the floor of the studio, strategically placing themselves by the giant floor fan. North tried to talk to him about Chloe at first, but when he didn’t engage and she seemed to notice his discomfort, she eventually shut up about it. 

Instead, North has decided to teach Connor what she has been practicing this spring. He suspects that she has found the one dance style he just can’t understand, just to mess with him. Not even his disastrous semester of hip hop classes was this frustrating.

"Shut up, I'm trying!" Connor snaps, incredibly frustrated that he can't get it right.

"Don't do it so fast right away. You need to put your weight-"

"I know, you told me!"

"The hips," North huffs, catching her breath through fits of laughter, "don't-don't use your hips so much!" 

Connor lets out a frustrated noise, doubling his efforts, which simply causes his confused limbs to hop in place. North rolls on the floor of the studio, clutching her stomach.

"This-This is even funnier,” she wheezes, “than when you found out... about... _flossing_!"

Connor shudders.

"Never. Mention Flossing. In this house."

“I can’t breathe. Oh my god!”

It takes ten minutes of coaxing and apologizing on North's part before Connor lets it go and he agrees to start working on their routine instead. He insists on going through some "normal" warm-up this time and forces North to do the same. She is still giggling, albeit more out of breath, by the time they finally stand opposite each other with hands in position.

In the middle of their choreography, a loud banging sounds over the speakers. They pause in their dancing, shutting off the music, breathing heavily and listening to see if it sounds again. It does and Connor hurries over to open the door. It’s not locked but apparently the person doesn’t feel it’s appropriate to come barging in.

Outside stands Kara, hand raised to knock again.

“Kara!” says Connor, surprised, when he opens the door.

“Hi, sorry to disturb you during practice.”

Connor glances behind him to North who raises an eyebrow, sipping water.

“It’s fine,” he assures Kara. “Do you want to come inside?”

Just from standing in the doorway he can feel the heat from the sun beating down on them.

“I need to speak with you alone if you don’t mind,” she says and Connor sees her eyes shoot over to North.

Slightly confused, he turns back to North who looks absolutely exasperated but still marches over to them and out into the sun. Kara tries to apologise but North just waves her hand.

“I’m sorry,” Kara says to Connor instead who smiles ruefully.

“It’s a tight schedule to keep what with all the classes crammed in,” he explains and Kara doesn’t exactly look reassured at this. “Come on in,” he waves his hand into the dance studio.

Kara steps inside and closes the door. She stays immediately inside the threshold and turns around to him.

“I’m so sorry to spring this on you like this but,” she pauses and bites her lip, looking out the small window to where Connor can see Kara and Luther playing some sort of tag-game. 

Connor wishes he had that kind of energy.

“It’s fine,” he says, mostly eager for Kara to get it out.

Kara steels herself, “Todd’s here.”

Of all the things she could have said, this is not something Connor was prepared for.

“Your dad?”

Kara nods. She’s pale and Connor can see bags under her eyes and he wonders if she has slept at all in these past few days.

“Are you sure?”

“I mean, I-” she pauses and looks down. When her head comes up again, she has something solid in her eyes. “Yes. Yes, I’m sure.”

“Have you told them?” Connor asks, gesturing outside where Luther is holding Alice above his head and swinging her around.

“Luther knows,” she says.

“And Alice?”

“I don’t want her to worry.”

Connor nods. He wouldn’t want that either.

“Maybe you should tell Ms. Chapman,” he says.

“I already spoke to Rose and she said Todd was here, tried to book a room.” A cold chill runs down Connor’s back. “She wouldn’t let him of course, but she said he looked real mad at that.”

Connor can imagine. He has seen Todd, maybe once or twice, around their apartment building. They had to remove the code lock and now they could only get in using a physical key.

“It’s good, though,” he tries to assure her. “Now he can’t be on the premises, it’s private property and this week the place is crawling with police.” 

He feels a little better just saying it.

Kara looks very uncomfortable and doesn’t answer. She looks out at Alice, a very vulnerable look on her face as she follows Alice with her eyes. Kara wraps her arms around herself, cold in the air-conditioned room.

“What is it?”

She hesitates another second, “He was beating her.”

Connor feels like someone just punched him in the gut. He’s not sure why. He figured it was probably something like that. He looks out at Alice, too. A young girl, laughing so hard she is hiccuping. How someone can look at her and think, even consider, laying a hand on her… He shudders, mind flinching away from the thought.

“I should have seen it sooner, should have realized he wouldn’t-”

Kara is choking out the words and tears are welling up in her eyes. Connor steps over to her, alarmed. Kara holds up a hand to stop him, wiping her face.

“No, sorry. It’s fine.”

“Kara, none of this is your fault,” he says, stopping a step away from her. “There’s no way you could have known.”

“I should have known.”

“Why-”

He stops when Kara looks up at him. Her face is wet from tears, and she looks very small, hunched in on herself. Connor doesn’t like where his thoughts are leading him.

“I should have known,” is all she says.

Connor lets it sink in. He wants to do something- he’s not sure what. Maybe hit something. Maybe hug her. Maybe take her, Alice and Luther and run.

He realizes that it is exactly what they did. They’re not here on vacation or anything as frivolous as that.

“You took her and ran,” he surmises.

Her nod is very small.

“I don’t have any legal right to take her. Even though he’s a- _abusing_ her,” her voice wavers. “He would be in his full right to sue me for kidnapping and Alice would have to go back to him. He would have her all alone and I wouldn’t be allowed to visit, I might go to jail and she would be all by herself and she’s so scared of him and I don’t know what I’m going to do, I-”

Her breathing is irregular and Connor watches helpless as the words stream out of her.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Breathe.”

He doesn’t want to come closer when she has clearly marked her boundaries, so he holds out a hand. She’s not focusing on anything in the room and her breathing hasn’t calmed down.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she whispers.

Connor doesn’t either. When she takes his hand, he grips it tightly.

***

WEDNESDAY **JULY 15TH** , 2020 - PM **02:01** :42

“Let’s take a ten minute break!” North calls to the group, keeping a hand-held fan close to her face. She still insists on wearing a long sleeved shirt, despite the terrible heat in the studio. “Go outside, grab some water. If you have questions, now’s your chance.” 

She then pointedly stands by the open doors that let in the warm summer air. A couple of officers approach her, asking for directions in a step or two. The Rumba is difficult for some of them, and North patiently guides them through the tougher parts.

Then Gavin starts hitting on her. She almost breaks his fingers in her grip. 

“Please do keep making those comments, detective,” she hisses at him, “I’m dying to report you to my boss and _your boss_ , by the way. Haven’t had anyone suspended yet this summer.” 

Her grin is mean, rightfully so, and Gavin sneers something rude, and shrugs dramatically before going outside, a carefully constructed nonchalance about him.

Connor barely notices the commotion, his mind occupied. He is still thinking about Kara and Alice and what the hell they're going to do about Todd. The irony that the resort is surrounded by the police the same week that Kara comes here is not lost on him. She refused to ask them for help when Connor suggested it, and it’s none of Connor’s business. Still, it's hard not to worry about them. He runs through the conversation once more. If something happens to her and Alice while they’re here...

He thinks North knows something is up with him, but she doesn’t ask about it. She walks outside with the rest of the group, seemingly less disturbed today by their t-shirts boasting “DPD” on their chests.

Connor’s mind wanders from Kara to North and when his eyes find Hank in the back of the room, that damn sweater comes back to him at full speed.

Knowing he could just ask Hank about it, seeing as the man has been in the same room as him for an hour now, makes the thoughts even more aggravating. But to ask is to acknowledge that it bothers him. 

It’s pathetic, really.

He walks over to his water bottle, unscrews the cap and fills it in the small bathroom right in connection to the studio, not troubling himself shutting the door. He is irritable, frustrated and worst of all, overheating. It has been next to impossible to focus during this class. 

Behind him, he hears footsteps. Most people have gone outside, hoping to find a cooling breeze out in the open. It’s probably just the two of them inside.

“Hey, uhh.. Sorry about this morning,” Hank mutters to his back. Connor collects himself and turns around slowly, hands resting on the sink, his water bottle forgotten. 

Hank stands there, hands at his sides. He’s wearing a short-sleeved button up that looks like he at least tried to iron it, a few wrinkles on the sides giving him away. Darker patches of sweat around the collar makes the material cling to his chest. His top buttons are undone and there’s definitely a peek of dark hair beneath. Connor’s stomach twists, imagining his hands dragging through the coarse hair, and he’s doing his best to not stare. 

“Hm?” Connor asks, trying to remember what happened this morning. 

Hank raises his eyebrows, an incredulous grin creeping up on his face. 

“With my dog? Who slobbered all over you?” 

“Oh.” Connor forgot about Sumo the moment he saw Chloe hand back Hank’s sweater like they had been-- “You don’t need to apologize for that,” he answers, confounded by the apology. 

Hank’s face brightens just a little.

“Just ‘cause… You seemed pretty mad at me last class?”

“Did I?” Maybe his professional face isn’t as solid as he thinks. “I apologize, it was not meant to be directed at you. I’m just having a bad day.” 

Hank nods, “Anyway, uh, sorry.” He waves his hand around as a finish. It flops about a bit without direction.

“It’s fine,” Connor answers too quickly. “He’s… I like dogs.” Hank chuckles at the words. “And he’s a good boy,” Connor adds, reaching for his water bottle and out of habit tosses the bottle between his hands. He realizes belatedly that he forgot to put the cap on. It sloshes onto his tank top, the sudden coolness startling him. He drops the bottle. “Shit,” he mutters, so damn embarrassed he would like to sink through the bathroom floor. 

Hank reacts, too, waving his hands around like he’s attempting to stop the water from pouring out, until realizing there is no point whatsoever. Instead, he squats down and picks up the bottle. He hands it back to Connor and then reaches next to him to pull out a few squares of paper to dab on his shoulders and briefly at his neck. His wiping is an aggressive jabbing that hurts more than helps.

“Sorry for distracting you,” Hank says, his voice a breathless rumble. Connor doesn’t imagine the quick glance at his soaked tank top, which he is just now finding out is thin enough to make the fabric pretty much see through. 

“It’s all right, probably gonna dry up in two seconds anyway,” he says and laughs too loudly to distract from his blush. 

He fills up his water bottle again. Hank opens his mouth, looking dead set on staring into Connor’s eyes, before backing out.

“I’ll uhh… Get back to the… floor, now,” he smiles, and God - That _smile_.

Is Hank blushing? Connor wonders, interest piqued. 

Back in class, during one of their many water breaks, Connor makes a point of downing the entire bottle just when he is in the perfect line of sight for Hank to see. He does it slowly, trying to keep his mouth as open and relaxed as possible. He accidentally splashes the last bit over his face, shaking the water out of his hair. He hopes it doesn’t look like an accident and anyway, it’s deliciously cool in the heat of the day. Most importantly, there’s no way Hank doesn’t see it.

By the end of the class, he and North stay in their spot for their students to have a last chance to catch them with any questions, but Connor can barely concentrate. He sees, no, he _feels_ , Hank’s stare. They lock eyes right before Hank turns to leave and the heat in the pit of his stomach burns. Then Connor follows Hank’s movement with his eyes and finds him picking up a plastic bottle and _the sweater._ And with that Connor’s good mood evaporates.

North seems to be finished with the last questions, or has managed to chase them away. She’s staring at Connor like she knows exactly what he’s doing and Connor forces down a scowl.

“Shut up,” he says when the students have left and they get ready for their own practice.

North says nothing but pokes him in the stomach in revenge and Connor almost vomits. He glares at her.

They have a few hours to practice for the talent show tonight. They’ll close the performances with a routine leading into an invitation for the guests to come up and dance. Despite already having the steps memorized, they make sure to go through them all.

They begin a short practice of their routine, every time one step closer to perfection. Connor tells himself this even as he misses a cue, spins North the wrong way and steps on her foot.

“I think that’s about all we have time for,” she sighs when he manages to grab her hair instead of her hand.

He sighs in defeat but nods. He’s hot, tired and grumpy but he can’t really blame his terrible performance on anything but his mind’s occupation with a certain policeman. 

“Yeah, all right,” he says and walks out to the hall to get some fresh air. 

***

WEDNESDAY **JULY 15TH** , 2020 - PM **04:10** :15

Hank has been dreaming of this shower since this morning when he woke up in a pool of his own sweat. There was no point in showering before the dance classes and he has desperately held on to the thought of standing under the cold spray.

He opens the door to the apartment and instantly remembers that there’s no shower in his and Gavin’s bathroom, which can only mean one thing. Communal showers. 

Gavin has texted him, saying that he’ll be at the beach until dinner. It’s surprisingly thoughtful for an asshole like him and it means that Hank can simply strip off in their bedroom without having Gavin sneering rudely at him. 

Not that he needs his partner’s comments to know what he looks like. His physique isn’t _terrible_ , he still has some muscles left from years of being an officer, but it doesn’t help his inner voice that whispers at him as he stands there naked, with his belly bulging over itself, fleshy hips hanging down and sagging skin under his arms. He grits his teeth and digs for his bathrobe, a battered down old thing.

The bathrobe is almost unbearable to wear outside in the melting heat of the afternoon. Hank carries his towel and shampoo across the grass, the few paces to the small building with the communal showers. It has big, wooden letters carved into a sign that says, _gentlemen’s showers._ He has tried to wait it out until everyone else is done in the showers, hoping he won’t have to make small talk with his co-workers while buck naked in stalls next to each other. It’s thankfully empty when he enters.

The showers remind him of his high school days - dark except for the small windows near the ceiling, white tiles that haven’t been properly cleaned in a while. And so much sand on the floor. He should have thought to bring a pair of flip flops.

At least the showers have stalls, two of them have curtains. He picks the one in the far corner, in case he gets company, and twists the knob that reluctantly moves with a loud squeak. 

Hank grits his teeth through the first seconds of shock as the bitingly cold water surrounds him. His hair sticks to his head and neck, and he instantly feels a bit better at the thought of the salt and dirt running off his skin. He hums as he bends his neck forward, letting the water trickle down his back. It’s easy to forget how uncomfortable he has been when he’s standing there letting it all drain away.

As the water cools him down, his mind travels through the day so far. Chloe sought him out at lunch today. She showed up, cheerful as ever, plopping down next to him and Jeffrey, all smiles and sunshine. She is lonely, Hank knows, and he can only relate, which might be why he couldn’t just turn her away. Seemingly unperturbed by the fact that she just crashed lunch with the DPD, she easily charmed the people around the table. She informed Hank that the dance instructor with the pretty hair had invited her to a party. 

She is awfully sweet, he thinks as he lifts his arms in the shower, scrubbing his pits. He hopes her new friends will be kind. 

_The dance instructor with the pretty hair._

So either North or Connor asked her to come to their party. He knows which of them he hopes it is, nausea swirling in his stomach. 

His thoughts circle back to Connor and that damn goofy grin of his. Even when he’s sweating and getting water sloshed all over himself, he looks like a fucking model. Hank thought he would combust in the afternoon class, staring at him while trying not to fantasize about licking the sweat off his skin. Just re-imagining it now sends a jolt down his lower stomach, and he briefly contemplates tampering his arousal. 

He soon gives in. He grabs his dick, already perked up, and strokes it gently a couple of times. He doesn’t usually do anything about it but his skin prickles and he feels too worked up to let it pass. So he jerks off in a public shower with the risk of anyone walking in, to the thought of Connor, dripping and pliant beneath his hands. He comes embarrassingly quickly and makes sure to wash the evidence away with a lot of soap. It releases at least some of his tension, though he’s not quite sure how to look Connor in the eyes for the rest of the week. Just thinking about it now he can’t stop the images of fucking Connor into the mattress from returning.

Well, that’s something that Future Hank will have to deal with.

Once he starts getting cold from standing there, he begins to wash himself and hears the door creak open, sunlight briefly glaring through the doorway. 

“Hey man.” 

It’s Chris, Hank notices and lets out a breath. Why couldn’t they have shared a room instead of him and Gavin?

He grunts in greeting and waves a little over the stall. He keeps his eyes firmly on the tiles in front of him. Chris picks a shower close enough to talk if Hank wants to, but with at least one stall between them in case he doesn’t. He’s one of the good ones.

“Having fun yet?” Hank asks cheekily, getting a chuckle in return.

“It’s… not as relaxing as the captain made it seem, is it?” Chris laughs, turning on the shower. “I mean, at least I get to play hooky from the classes and activities and stuff.” 

Hank snorts.

“Yeah, good thing you brought your family along. Would have too, if I’d have one.” He says it as a joke, but he’s not sure if Chris understands that there’s no real emotion behind the words. Chris doesn’t say anything. Hank clears his throat. “Instead, I get to babysit Gavin.” This, at least, makes Chris relax again and he chuckles. 

They talk shit about Gavin for a little while and Hank gets to tell him about the way North manhandles him during every class.

When they’re both outside again, the sun feels less scorching and more pleasantly warm. Hank squints at the light, feeling just how tense he has been, now that he’s gooey and relaxed. Chris glances over at him, looking unsure. 

“What?” Hank asks.

***

"Listen, I wouldn't ask this of you unless I had no other option," Chris starts. It rubs Hank up the wrong way. Sure, he has become some kind of loose cannon in the past years and yeah, he drinks too much and maybe he isn’t one you would automatically trust with your child, but the shit still hurts. Knowing that it’s Chris he’s talking to, Chris who’s known him for years, Chris who has been nothing but supportive and understanding, Hank forces down his own self doubt into a corner of his mind to answer.

"I know I don't handle _myself_ gracefully, but taking care of children is something I take seriously, okay?" 

He only sounds a little upset. Chris backtracks, realizing that he's stepped in it.

"Of course Hank, I know that, come on! I just meant that I don't wanna put you through anything that might… You know."

Hank knows what Chris means then. Chris is not worried for his son’s sake, but for Hank's. The fact that he cares enough to ask makes his chest tighten.

Because what Chris refers to is the accident. The one that threw Hank into a spiral of self destruction, bordering on a slow suicide. He hasn't been allowed on any homicide cases involving children since then. His therapist suggested against it and despite how much he wanted to fight her on it, he is silently grateful for her insistence.

Hank still gets upset at Chris' insinuation that he can't be around kids without his PTSD showing up. Which is a valid worry, since it is exactly what he is afraid of, too.

"I'll be fine," he says, just as much to himself as to Chris. "I share a room with Gavin, I wouldn't mind the company of decent fucking humans."

He smiles but Chris still has that frown on his face.

"I'm sorry for asking you this, we're just so tired-"

"Hey, don't mention it. Seriously, don't. It's the least I can do."

He puts emphasis on the last part, hoping he won't have to spell it out. That he can't ever repay Chris for all the evenings and nights that he's picked up the phone in the first year, no matter the time, no matter the state of drunkenness Hank was in. There is nothing he can do to ever repay him for saving his life on the nights when he considered putting his service firearm to his temple. 

Chris says nothing except "Thank you," but he gets it.

Damian is three months old. Hank can't avoid comparing his darker skin tone to Cole's pale pink. He has more hair than Cole had, soft black curls sticking to his head. It's difficult to believe that any baby could ever measure even close to his boy, but he melts nonetheless the moment he gets to hold Damian in his arms. The fear he carried on his way to Chris' cottage seeps out of him, and he is simply mesmerized by his chubby little arms, his soft head and the adorable cheeks. The baby smiles, a little shy at first, but within the minute he's laughing his diapered ass off at Hank's silly faces.

Chris and Janine look relieved and despite trying to be polite and let Hank take his time, he can tell that they just want to shove him out the door and get going with their afternoon plans.

"All right, we’ll get going. Go have some alone time. We'll be at apartment 2A until dinner."

Hank is sure that the couple is already busy by the time he's back in his shared room. Damian is resting in the baby carrier, babbling and shrieking in equal measure.

Damian turns out to be a regular baby of his age. He is awake for the first couple of hours, playing with his fascinating hands, preferably putting them in his own mouth, and blabbering at Hank. They do diaper change and Damian gets a bottle. He enjoys their walk with Sumo. The dog curiously sniffs at him and tries to lick his tiny feet. He gets a handful of Sumo’s thick fur and they have a standoff in the middle of the boardwalk before Damian lets him go for a jingling toy. 

When they are back in the apartment, Damian gets cranky and starts to wail loudly in the baby stroller, ready for sleep but not _sleepy_. 

Hank doesn't mind, just settles down on the kitchen couch, propping up a pillow against the arm rest. Damian cozies up on his chest, still holding on to the plushie octopus in his tiny hands and whining. Hank picks up the book he's been reading at night and starts to read out loud to him, just to simply have something to do until the baby tires himself out. He notices that Damian finds his voice as soothing as Cole used to do. He deliberately lowers his voice half an octave to let his chest rumble while he’s reading, which works like magic. Damian passes out after three minutes.

God, he has missed this. Cole's beaming face flickers in his mind and he forces it back down again. He will not think about it, not now. All he can focus on is Damian’s light snores.

Hank nods off on the couch and wakes up to a notification buzzing on his phone. He groggily picks it up from the kitchen table. It’s Janine checking up on him, wondering if Damian is behaving. Hank chuckles, sends a picture of the kid snoozing on his chest. It’s blurry and the angle is weird and he wonders if Damian should perhaps have his blanket on him, but Janine immediately answers with many heart emotes. 

They decide to come pick him up when Damian has woken up from his nap, and Hank makes sure to let them know that they can take their time. At this point of parenthood, there is nothing more precious in your life than just a few hours of alone time.

Damian is cheery and coos again when he wakes up, and Hank is ever so grateful that his parents aren’t greeted by a screaming, traumatized kid when they arrive.

Janine can’t wait to grab her baby, smiling and snuggling against him happily. Hank briefly sees an image of his ex wife holding Cole, and for once he tries to focus on the good, warm feeling of the memory, rather than the existential horror of knowing he’ll never have a moment like that again.

“Thank you,” Chris says again. Hank wants to thank him as well, for giving him this chance, to dare dream of being a father again. Because once Chris and Janine are out of the house and Hank is alone, he can’t help but go through as much information he can about single parents adoptions. It’s scary and it’s only an idle fantasy at the moment, but the audacity, the rebellious action of allowing himself this small joy in his grief, is exhilarating.

***

WEDNESDAY **JULY 15TH** , 2020 - PM **09:23** :18

By the time the talent show starts, the DPD has been at the longtable for at least an hour. Most of Hank’s coworkers are buzzed. He himself sips on a colorful non-alcoholic drink that the bartender whipped up for him. He specifically asked for soda in a glass, but hell, it tastes damn good. Gavin gives him shit for it, to which Hank answers by lifting the tiny umbrella out of his glass and neatly placing it in Gavin’s hair.

When the show starts, there’s an announcement on the speakers and the DPD quiets down in their seats. Hank leans back, feeling tired all of a sudden. This is probably gonna go on for at least an hour, and he is ready to hit the hay right now. 

Apparently some of the employees have prepared a special performance for the DPD, which that guy with the team exercises announces to the audience. Hank watches in horror as a gang of young, gorgeous men and women stride up on stage dressed in floral attire. They’re just ridiculously handsome, he thinks for the fifth time this week, and not even those hideous outfits can make that go away. Hank recognizes the guy with the guitar, Markus? They introduce themselves as Jericho, and judging by the collective hoots and hollers from staff and some of the guests, they’re a common occurrence at these shows. When the musician, Markus, plays the first chords of Sound of Music again, Hank actually laughs out loud. Those little shits.

Of course they sound like a fucking pro choir, as well. Not even close to the cawing that came out of the DPD. It’s like a cheeky joke, a subtle _gotcha!_ to the police force, who laugh and holler in return. 

The choir finishes the song, actually manages to engage some people in the audience, and introduces the evening’s entertainment.

Most of the police are not that invested in the talent show, instead ordering wine and gossiping about the other divisions. There are toddlers who are up on stage, performing a racketous rendition of Snow White for the audience of whom their parents are obviously their greatest fans. When they’re finished another set of adorable little chubby-cheeked children get up on stage to do the next bit.

Some of the kids are too shy to be alone up on stage and have to be accompanied by their parents. It’s awkward and Hank pretends that he doesn’t wish to be one of those delirious fathers, taking pictures of their kid singing “ _Somewhere over the rainbow_ ” and shouting that they’re doing great.

“Lucky we managed to time our dinner right before the children’s party,” Tina mumbles to Gavin with a tip of her wine glass. 

Hank watches them leave the table for the bar. He can’t stop fidgeting with his drink. 

By the time the parents have dragged their overtired children, now dressed in cheap gold medals, off the stage and back to their lodgings, the buffet closes and the tables are being moved away by the staff. Some of the parents are looking over their shoulders, gazing wistfully at the bar as they leave. So does Hank. He takes another long sip of his fruity drink. 

“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” the voice of Josh echoes again through the speakers in the restaurant, “Finally we are opening the dance floor! Let’s get jiggy with it and give it up for our dynamic dancing duo, North aaaaand Connor!” 

The guests ready to go back home turn in the doorway and wait curiously as Connor and North stride out on the stage and smile. They earn whistles and claps from the people standing by the sides to watch. North sparkles in a short, green dress, and some of the teenage girls in the audience whisper and point to her in awe. 

"Look at her," Gavin purrs somewhere behind Hank, who twists his face in disgust at the idiot. 

North is beautiful, he admits, but if he’s focusing on that he’s missing the essential part of who she is. Not least dangerous. 

Meanwhile Connor is...

Something else.

Hank sighs. It's such a sight to see him dance, lights bouncing off the white shirt he’s wearing; it’s tight and with his black pants hugging his slim hips he’s practically edible. And fuck, now Hank's drooling over a guy who must be twenty years younger than him. When did that happen? Is this what his life has become?

"Not a chance in a million years, old man," Gavin sneers with a condescending pat on Hank's shoulder. 

Hank doesn't immediately get that Gavin is still talking about North. He hopes he’ll get to see her fuck Gavin up this evening. If not with a punch to his face, then maybe with a well placed shoe in his groin.

The routine is almost over, the music rising as Connor and North dance. Hank could watch this for hours on end, just an infinite loop of Connor gliding across the floor, looking unbothered by such things as gravity and the physical strain except for the sheen of sweat causing his cowlick to curl at his forehead. He leads North like they're two halves of a whole, all the while grinning and occasionally laughing when they get into the groove and the audience cheers extra loudly. North spins around him, elevates one of her legs up in a graceful arch. It looks so effortless. When Connor lifts North and spins her, Hank feels an electric current run through his chest. 

Connor leaps off the stage gracefully, turns to catch North as she skips down, holding her steady and making it look like she floats. They both successively move from each other to grab new dance partners and drag them to the floor. The dance performance appears to be a prelude to the inevitable dance party they invite the audience to partake in when they’re finished. 

The music changes to some modern song that Hank swears he has heard on the radio but never really listened to. Guests get to repeat the moves that Connor and North show them, creating lines. If he wasn’t terrified of being pulled into the crowd, he would enjoy himself. Right now though, he backs subtly away from the floor, trying to fit in with the watching crowd. 

Connor is mesmerizing on the floor. His eyes are literally glittering as he invites a couple of older ladies to the front. 

Once the rest of the people dare move to the floor, Connor and North split up once again to invite them to couple dances. Connor seems to opt for only older ladies, and when Hank sees the looks from younger women, and men, whenever Connor passes them, he thinks he understands why. Not that he can blame them. After all he’s staring, too.

The dances are getting slower and the dancers fewer as the evening progresses. Hank stands outside, soda in hand, and chats with Jeffrey. Soon the man yawns and tells Hank that he should maybe get some sleep too.

Hank stays, moving towards the bar to get another soda. He doesn't know why he's still here. Each time he sees Connor and North dancing and talking, he feels a pathetic stab of jealousy. Even though they’re obviously just coworkers. Hank just wishes that he knew which one of them asked Chloe out. 

Damn it.

North is swarmed by young men, and when one of them tries to dance alone with her as she makes her way to the bar, Hank is pretty certain her lips form the words “ _I’m a lesbian_ ” to them. He hears himself bark a laugh, which turns her head at the bar. She raises her eyebrows but doesn't comment, and Hank simply gives her the thumbs up. She smirks in response and grabs her beer.

Hank lifts his glass thinking that maybe he should call it a night and recognize it as a pretty boring day at the resort. Then he hears Connor's voice laughing behind him, clapping someone on the back as they make their way to the kitchens. Hank follows him with his eyes as Connor drops himself against the bar, pointing a finger up to the bartender with a smile. He receives a large glass of what Hank assumes is iced water. His white shirt is clinging deliciously to his chest and his smile is brilliant. The easy way he leans against the bar, his hips cocked out enticingly is a pretty image. Hank steals a glance, then decides to do something about it.

"Nice moves, Swayze," he smiles and Connor stops with his glass half raised, eyeing Hank up and down in suspicion. 

"What are you doing here? I thought you hated dancing,” he says in a measured voice. 

The displeased answer makes Hank’s stomach flip and he wants to ruffle Connor’s sweat-slick hair. He's so damn cute. "Never said no such thing," he replies instead. 

Connor glares, not convinced. 

"Why are you even at class if you refuse to do it properly?" Connor asks, squaring his shoulders, and Hank sees in his periphery that he's tapping his foot.

"Ouch," Hank mutters, putting a hand to his chest, "You wound me. What if I'm just really bad at dancing?"

"But you're not!" Connor insists, and yeah, frustration looks damn good on him. "I saw you when you thought I wasn't looking. Why are you faking?"

Hank pauses. He could deny it, but it would probably just make Connor more resentful.

"I don't wanna outshine my officers, have a reputation to uphold."

Connor purses his lips.

"Then why did you come here tonight, if not to dance?"

"Maybe I enjoy the entertainment," Hank answers, and after a second lets a cheeky grin slip out. He thinks Connor's breathing louder, his nostrils flaring. Hank decides against throwing in a wink but still gets to enjoy the red flush crawling up Connor’s cheeks. 

“That’s… inappropriate, Sergeant,” Connor huffs but Hank sees him leaning in. Hank can smell him this close.

“You looked absolutely gorgeous out there on the dancefloor,” he continues, feeling daring for once.

Connor still looks suspicious but a smug smile is hesitantly twitching in the corner of his mouth.

“It’s part of my job to look gorgeous on the floor,” Connor says. Hank wonders if this is how Connor responds to any guest hitting on him. Is Hank hitting on him? He has not thought this through.

“You fucking lift and twirl your girl like it’s nothing, you’re damn strong.”

Daringly, he lets a hand land on Connor’s elbow. He watches Connor’s face like a hawk, trying to see if this is too far. 

"My girl?" he says, a small frown on his face.

"Aren't you… a thing?"

Connor leans his head back, laughing.

"No," he eventually snickers. "No, we're not…" he trails off. Hank sees that as a win and tries not to look too happy about it.

"Good to know. So you two been doing this gig for long?" he adds lamely, regretting those boring words as soon as they leave his lips. Connor doesn't look like he minds, though Hank suspects the man is used to handling guests who ask too many questions. 

"This is my second year," he says and his smile grows wider. Hank loves that smile. "I usually work at an office in Detroit, and teach a few classes on the weekends. This is what I'd consider my real work, though." 

Hank nods, finding he wants to know more about Connor. It doesn’t look like he’s waiting for a chance to get out of their conversation. Hank decides he’ll try his luck.

"It's not possible to have this as a full time job?" he asks and is sad to see Connor's smile falter.

"No, not really," he says. "Doesn't matter. I’m hoping to get a job at my old university teaching ballroom. I’ve sent in my application but I don’t really think I’ve got enough experience.”

Hank wants to tell him he believes in him, he has seen him dance and there can’t be anyone better. He’s also seen Connor teach and despite Hank being an old gruffy idiot, Connor’s a good teacher.

Connor seems to regret saying so much, though and Hank struggles to find something appropriate to say. 

“When’ll you know?” he asks and Connor huffs and looks away.

“By the end of summer,” he answers and then downs his entire glass of ice water. Hank watches his Adam’s apple bob. “What about you, Sergeant?”

Hank says nothing for a second, not sure how to answer. Not sure _what_ to answer. 

“You know, I’m a cop. If they don’t hire you, I could always arrest them,” Hank says and immediately wants to slam his head into a wall.

Connor looks up at him, a bit surprised. “Isn’t that abuse of power?” he asks and an amused smile flickers on his lips. “Besides, what would you even arrest them for?”

“Charges are flexible,” Hank says before thinking it through and then shrugs in self-inflicted confusion when Connor raises his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry?”

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t know what that means either,” Hank says and looks away for a way to escape. He considers actually just walking away. He turns back when Connor laughs.

He looks charming, fiddling with his glass and looking up at Hank with a bit of a smile and a pretty blush on his face.

“For what it’s worth, I think they’d be morons not to hire you. You’re a great teacher and you’re fucking electric on the dance floor.”

Hank tries to temper his voice but it still comes out way too sincere. 

Connor looks at him, and he smiles like it’s the first time someone has said that to him. Hank’s heart breaks a little.

“Thank you,” Connor says in a quiet voice. Hank feels drawn to Connor, like a moth to a flame. His lashes fan across his cheeks as he looks down and then back up. The energy between them seems to change and Hank swallows.

“Are you gonna flirt with me all night or actually ask me to dance?" Connor asks, and Hank was right, his voice is different now, lower and luring Hank forward.

Hank feels Connor's hand sneaking over his hip, a long finger catching the belt loop of his jeans. He's closer now and Hank really didn't think this through. That Connor would even accept his advances, this gorgeous, talented guy, is so baffling that Hank is frozen in place for a second or two. 

Connor must sense the way Hank's heartbeat races, because he leans in and talks over the loud music, "Just dancing so don't think too much of it. We're not allowed anything more with guests. Sadly," he adds and pulls away, awaiting Hank's answer with a tantalizing tug on his belt loop.

Hank feels as if something cold was just dropped on his head. He clears his throat and takes a small step back, enough for Connor's hand to drop from his jeans. 

Cold sweat runs down his spine, as the walls close in on him. The claustrophobic feeling worsens when Connor raises his brows in a question and suddenly it’s like every person in this restaurant is staring at him, judging him. Flashes of the five year old twins singing some lullaby at the talent show starts to loop in his mind but the sound is all warped and Hank can’t breathe.

“I don’t really-, I uh…”

Connor stiffens and leans back. He can barely hear what he’s saying for a second.

_Step back from the edge, step back, step back._

“I see,” Connor says and his voice is cold and hard. Hank feels as if a razor just cut his skin. "I get it."

“No, Connor, I’m sorry, it’s just-It’s not what you think-” he tries to explain but his words feel empty and he’s numb. His tongue is swelling and he can’t breathe.

“It’s fine,” Connor says although it clearly is not fine. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow, Mr. Anderson,” Connor says and pauses for a second before continuing, “In _dance_ class,” the emphasis clear enough.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank: *thinks* say something nice and sweet and cool and romantic and suave and-  
> Hank :I’LL ARREST HIM FOR YOU!   
> Connor: what
> 
> -
> 
> Connor: why won’t you DANCE???  
> Hank: ?  
> Connor: why whY WHY wHA!
> 
> -
> 
> Hope you liked this chapter. Also, if you like to draw and feel like drawing something from this story, then please do and pleease link us so we can see it and squee. We love fanart! (we also love comments) (so much)


	4. Thursday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, we made Hank a couple of years younger in this, if you were wondering why Hank is only a sergeant and not lieutenant...  
> We also made Connor about 25 years older, because he's not an android...

THURSDAY **JULY 16TH** , 2020 - AM **07:56** :12

Connor knows he has messed up. Draping himself over one of the guests in the middle of a dance floor is just stupid and he should have known better. Hank's rejection stung so sharply that Connor fled the scene as quickly as he could, not waiting for North or anyone else. He groans as he remembers the awkward conversation, his forehead pressed firmly against the bathroom wall of the dance studio. 

Hank's going to be in the studio in less than five minutes. He'll be there with his loud shirts and disapproving scowl. North is playing some soft music while the students are filing in, greeting the DPD. Connor has to get out of the bathroom and be a professional. He has to ignore this embarrassment. 

His phone buzzes and he checks the screen, rolling his eyes at the ID. Nines. 

_Haven't heard from you in weeks. Would be nice if you picked up your phone for once._

Connor ignores the message and shoves his phone in his back pocket, pushing open the bathroom door to meet the class.

North turns to him from where her phone is connected via AUX and raises her brows at Connor's slumped posture. He corrects himself and pretends to be stretching while he takes in today's class. There are fewer people here today than yesterday. That’s normal, a couple always drop out along the week. His eyes sweep the room, both hoping and dreading to find Hank. He gets a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he realizes that he isn’t here. To Connor's annoyance, it’s disappointment, not relief, that he feels.

Connor sighs. He scrambles to find his instructor’s smile, it’s elusive today but he finally manages to glue it on. He greets the class with a grin.

It's time for the Paso Doble. 

***

THURSDAY **JULY 16TH** , 2020 - AM **08:12** :36

Sumo has his massive head pressed against the open window in the back seat as Hank cruises down the road, wind blowing harshly into the car. There’s a nice view of Lake Huron stretching out on one side; the water is still. The heat today is oppressive, clouds looming over them in a threat.

Hank just can’t meet Connor’s eye this morning. The entire night he has been tortured by the image of Connor’s disappointed pout on the dance floor. It took him hours to fall asleep and when he did he was haunted by the warped sound of that lullaby. He slept fitfully and finally woke up at four in the morning from Sumo whining at the side of his bed. The pitiful eyes of the great beast got to him and he went for a walk. When he crashed back into bed he completely blacked out until the alarm on his phone went off in the morning.

Sumo is getting antsy in the back seat, and whines when Hank slows down to take a sharp left turn into the parking lot.

“There, boy. Just a minute and I’ll let you stretch your legs,” he mutters, absentmindedly stretching behind to the backseat and patting Sumo’s head.

When he woke up and remembered that he had to be at the stupid dance class all morning, he decided he just couldn’t stomach it. Seeing Connor the night before has messed with Hank’s mind. He’s pulled between wanting someone he absolutely can't have, and disgust with himself for lusting after a guy that young, sweet and still in the prime of his life. It’s pathetic and sad. Connor shouldn’t settle for a guy like Hank, who at forty-two has been drinking himself into an early grave. His living habits have made their marks, with his ever expanding gut and graying hair. At least he still has a head full of hair. Small mercies. 

No, this morning he ignores his problems, which include the dance classes, the workshops, and all the judging looks from his colleagues. 

The people at the DPD are definitely waiting for him to screw up, maybe not today, but soon. They think he is going to show up piss drunk and slurring. Or that he’ll stay in his room, sleeping until late afternoon. 

So he leaves, just for the day. He’ll take Sumo to a nice dog park he found on the map. It will allow his puppy to go for a cooling swim in the water, get his legs running. Then Hank will grab a burger from the food truck he saw on his way here. He longs to be alone with his thoughts, just for a while. 

Sumo is beyond excited to get out of the hot car, panting and wagging his fluffy tail furiously. He lets out an ecstatic howl when Hank opens the car door. 

The clouds have parted by the time they arrive at the park. They have been lucky with the weather, he thinks as he closes the gate to the dog park and lets Sumo loose. There are a few other big dogs inside the fence and they approach Sumo with a kind of respect that only dogs his size get immediately. Sumo, who doesn’t know his own size, bounds over in a ball of joy and almost smashes a small poodle in his attempt to make friends. Hank makes small talk with their owners and lets Sumo run around, catching the tennis ball that Hank borrowed from the shed outside of the apartment complex. It’s still yellow and fuzzy which is more than can be said for the heaps of balls and other toys Sumo has at home.

On their way to the beach, Hank takes off his tennis shoes and drops them on the grass before reaching the sandy parts. It’s warm, comforting, and he enjoys the feeling of sand between his toes. Sumo doesn’t generally like being in water, but the days have been so hot that he doesn’t hesitate today. Hank doesn’t have an excuse for not teaching his puppy to swim other than it never seemed to be the time. Sumo splashes up a minor flood as he barges into the lake with Hank on his heels. He boofs happily and shakes off the water, his fur so fucking thick that the water sprays all around him. A woman standing a little way away gets caught in the crossfire. She’s holding a Yorkie, a tiny thing even in comparison to a small dog and who looks positively rat like next to Sumo. It squeaks at the sudden attack and squirms in its owner’s arms who grapples to keep ahold of it. Hank can’t leave his dog alone for one fucking second without having to apologize.

“Shit, shit, sorry, Miss!” he calls, grabbing Sumo by the collar, trying his best to drag the puppy away from the woman. 

She smiles, however, even as she struggles to calm her Yorkie down. When the thing has stilled enough in her arms she walks back to the beach. She nods to Hank as she approaches, a playful smile on her lips when she sees Sumo being a good boy standing next to Hank but betraying his excitement from the frenetic tail waving and whining. It’s a feeling every dog owner recognizes. When she’s a bit closer to shore she sets her tiny dog down and the water reaches its chest. Hank can’t believe how tiny it is. 

Despite its size it seems braver than it should be as it comes closer to greet Sumo. It yaps happily when Sumo leans down to sniff it curiously. 

Hank cards one hand through his hair. He’s suddenly very much aware of the old heavy metal t-shirt he’s wearing, the ugly cargo pants rolled up to his knees. His pale-ass legs and shaggy beard. 

“It’s okay. Hey!” She looks up at Hank, her makeup bringing out the green in her eyes. “I think I’ve seen you around the hotel. You were at the talent show, weren’t you? I’m Alma,” she smiles and reaches out her hand. Hank takes it.

“Hank. Nice to meet you. This is Sumo,” he gestures towards where Sumo is pressing his giant nose to the Yorkie’s butt, in typical dog polite fashion. 

Alma laughs, “And this is Nicky.” 

The Yorkie has had enough when Sumo starts licking his nose and growls in a pathetic way. Sumo, the nice pup that he is, shies away, looking confused. Hank laughs but becomes increasingly uncomfortable when he realizes that Alma is coming on to him.

“You disappeared last night before I got the chance to ask you to dance with me. I was very disappointed,” she pouts a little and Hank is so confused for a moment. He laughs it off, makes a self-deprecating joke about himself and tries to disengage from the conversation. “Me and my girlfriends made a bet of who would get you on the dancefloor before the night was over,” she continues, a devilish smirk on her face. 

Hank is no stranger to picking up women. In his twenties he realized what his mouth was really for (get your mind out of the gutter!) and he got called a stud by his peers more often than he cared to admit. Up until he became a father he was a real heart-throb. Even after he got married, he had an easy time chatting to people, a natural charm. He used to be so damn cocky about it. Right now, all he knows is that there’s a gorgeous young man who’s too good for him, who probably isn’t even that interested in him and will forget him by this time next week.

“Actually, I’m gay,” he lies, taking a leaf out of North’s book, to let Alma down easy. She stares owlishly at him for a second. He shrugs as if to say, _Hey, what can I tell ya?_

He can see how she struggles to school her expression, clearly uncomfortable. He watches with guilty pleasure. It’s funny, with a little age and perspective, in a situation like this where her opinion doesn’t really matter.

“O-oh?” she asks. Her Yorkie almost bites her in the hand when she pats him in unfocused and too hard strokes. She looks down, surprised, when Nicky growls in warning. 

“Yup.”

She is quick about making excuses and he is left alone after that, thankfully. 

The rest of the morning is quiet, and he allows himself to enjoy the silence, making sure to take extra good care of Sumo while he’s at it. After the waddle in the lake, Hank washes his thick fur, dries him with a nice, clean towel and even orders special doggy treats at the burger joint. The owner stops by his table outside to scratch Sumo behind the ears and sneak him a few extra treats.

Hank doesn’t even pick up the phone when he’s waiting for his lunch, instead leaning forward and petting Sumo. His puppy licks his face.

It is, for once, a good fucking morning.

***

THURSDAY **JULY 16TH** , 2020 - PM **01:12** :36

Hank didn’t show up for the lesson this morning. Connor tries not to let it get to him, but deep down he knows it’s because of last night. Connor thought he was being suave for once, and instead got rejected like a kid with a crush on his teacher. Why he lets it bother him, he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care. Right now he wants to be pouting.

It was disappointing to go to class, when he had prepared to smooth over his mistake, only to find the group Hank-less. North gives him a look, one that says they will be talking about this after work, and Connor ignores her in return. 

Now, here Hank is, tanned after playing hooky all morning, in that ugly washed out black shirt and sweats that should have been thrown away years ago. He doesn’t even look sorry for bailing, and Connor feels a desperate need to let him know how he feels about it. It isn’t nice, but he put his feelings out there and Hank rejected him, and it stings. Then he’s reminded of Chloe and her damn sweater, and now he’s angry again.

North is explaining a move to the group, one that involves a lot of new steps. She goes through it slowly and motions later for Connor to come help her demonstrate. Connor still has his arms crossed, leaning against the wall where the stereo sits. Then he has an idea that has not been cleared with North before and which will not make her happy afterwards.

“Why don’t we let one of our students shine on stage with you today?” he offers, and before anyone has time to raise their hand, he fixes Hank with a glare. “Anderson, you want to join North?"

Hank’s eyes widen at his words, his nostrils flaring. Connor takes a mean pleasure in this, after his pride has taken such a beating. North gives Connor a look that confirms his suspicion that she is _not pleased_ , but she doesn’t say anything. 

The other officers cheer him on. Connor even hears Gavin whistle at him. 

When Hank slowly walks up to join North in measured steps, Connor is hit again by how tall the man is. He towers over North in an almost comical way. North seems to realize this, too, but soldiers on. Connor can see Hank’s lips thinning to a line, his eyes tight. North keeps her professionalism on point and guides Hank into position. She manages to provide the group with a somewhat coherent demonstration that isn’t really helped by the awkward shuffling Hank supplies.

“Now look carefully,” North starts gently, slowly showing the group the steps. 

Hank follows as good as he can, and at first it almost looks like he got it, to Connor’s dismay. But then Hank seems to become aware of the eyes on him, and he immediately slips up. The other cops pair up and try to follow the instructions, but Connor pins Hank in place with his eyes, making it clear he thinks Hank should just stay where he is. He comes up to stand next to Hank, to help instruct him on the steps. North gives him a look when he plants himself beside them.

“You’re putting your hands too high up,” Connor chides, adjusting Hank’s grip. He takes a step and Connor taps his knee with his foot. “Too far out, you need to be within this space.” Hank raises an eyebrow, and Connor counters it by pushing the knuckles of his left hand into Hank’s spine. “Don’t slouch, Anderson. Straight back.” He wonders if the shiver running through Hank is real or just his own wishful thinking.

“Jeez, you’re putting way too much effort on getting my two left feet moving right,” Hank eventually snaps and Connor smirks, pleased by finally getting a rise out of him. North drops their hands, assuring Hank that he did a good job keeping up and that Connor is just being mean. Connor doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t miss the scoff from Hank. His skin is shiny from perspiration, the hair in the back sticking to his neck. He should have his hair up more, Connor thinks. So he doesn’t get so warm all the time. Let his neck breathe a little.

North looks between them, giving Connor a glare of warning and excuses herself to help the rest of the class. Connor finds himself face to face with Hank now. He doesn’t say anything, and neither does Hank, who simply narrows his eyes, tilting his head back in contemplation and oh god, now Connor can see that the man is a detective. Connor swallows and meets his stare defiantly. Hank shrugs and turns to leave.

***

THURSDAY **JULY 16TH** , 2020 - PM **04:12** :36

“What the fuck’s going on with you?” North demands when they finally get back to the lake house. She has been fuming the entire walk home, not engaging in Connor’s small talk. She sits down on the couch, elbows on her knees with a steely glare directed at him. Connor shrugs and goes straight to the fridge.

“What do you mean?”

He knows exactly what she means. That doesn’t make it easier for him to answer. Behind him, North lets out a sigh but it turns into a frustrated groan halfway through. 

“I mean, you were trying to eyefuck the students yesterday, then you could hardly focus during the show. You only danced with two ladies after and then you left without saying anything. And today--” she holds up a finger, as if to scold him. He pretends to be unbothered by it. “Today you fucking humiliated the only decent guy in class, in front of all his fucking coworkers!”

Connor feels a pang of guilt but shrugs it off.

“It wasn’t intentional,” he says defensively. “I just thought it’d be good to let our students challenge thems-”

“Cut the bullshit, Connor.” North’s voice cracks like a whip and Connor falls silent. “You had it in for him from the second he walked into the studio.” She leans forward, “Did he do anything to you? Do I need to be worried?”

Connor can’t stop the idiotic blush on his face. At a loss for words, he sighs and plops down into the cushions on the couch. North is still watching him. He doesn’t want to say it. It is too incriminating, this part.

“What about you and Chloe?” He counters but North doesn’t take the bait.

She still doesn’t say anything. Connor wonders who’s the more stubborn of the two. 

“Did he come on to you?” she murmurs and yes, now Connor feels the blush spreading all over his body. He quickly turns his head from her, heart beating fast. It is too late, judging by her sharp intake of breath. “Shit, damn it. He seemed so reasonable.”

“North,” Connor says, then shuts his mouth. He turns to her again, feeling the sting of tears behind his eyes. His mouth dries up. 

It’s so quiet in the cottage as he whispers, voice shaking,

“North, I’m gay.”

She is quiet for a second.

"... Okay?"

“That’s it? That’s your reaction?” 

“I mean, I haven’t thought about it, but it’s…” her lips twitch upwards, “It’s pretty obvious.”

“Great, do I have a sign on my head that says, ‘ _Camp twink, looking for bears_ ’ on me?” He waves his hands dramatically in the air.

“Nah, I’d say it’s more of a name tag.” North laughs at Connor taking offense. “So is that what this is about? Did the Sergeant come on to you, did you have to turn him down?” 

Connor hugs his knees, unable to say it. 

“Oh.” 

North pales, her lips stuck in that moment of surprise. This is why Connor doesn’t want to talk about it. There is no way he’ll ever bring it up with Markus - he would never understand. Or rather, he would be supportive and kind because he’s Markus but Connor is afraid that something would change. It has been strange between them all summer and they haven’t really talked at all this week. Connor keeps his gaze locked on his hands in his lap, too afraid to look up. There is a silence in the room and it’s killing him. He casts a quick glance up to gauge North’s reaction. She doesn’t look like she’s judging him, however. She’s only surprised.

“Connor, you know it’s not allowed for us to get involved with the students.”

“I know,” Connor murmurs. 

“I’m not trying to scold you, just,” she sighs. “Be careful, okay? Maybe after the week is over, you could, I don’t know. Call him, take him out on a date?”

Connor feels humiliated just thinking about pursuing anything with Hank after yesterday and he buries his head into his arms.

“Sure, yeah,” he mutters, quiet enough for North to have to strain her ears to have a chance of hearing him.

North says nothing for a moment. Connor thinks she’s probably pitying him. Or laughing at him. God, he’s so pathetic.

“Or you could just wallow in guilt for the rest of the summer, pretend like your little mishap couldn’t be resolved by a simple conversation and continue on to feel sorry for yourself and eventually end up dying alone.”

A beat of silence.

“Yeesh, North, tell me what you really think.”

“I am,” she says bluntly, and Connor raises his head an increment to look up at her. She has her serious face on, which is different from her angry face, her condescending face and her sarcastic face. “You’re being an idiot.”

Connor turns his head back into his arms.

“I know. It’s still just so embarrassing.” He stares at the coffee table, traces an old stain with his finger. “He’s… Much older.” It’s a simple statement. He observes North, waiting for her verdict.

“Well…” she says and there are a lot of things not being said in that pause. “He is,” she agrees, and Connor meets her eyes, waiting for the judgment. “I don’t mind, I just think you should be careful.” Her voice is kind. It’s almost worse this way. “It’s different when they’re so much older than you.”

“You think it’s a bad idea, then?” he asks, almost afraid of the answer.

North shakes her head, “No, I mean yes, because he’s a student and you’re being an idiot, but not because he’s old.”

“Older than me, not old,” Connor mutters under his breath. North ignores him. “Well, it’s too late anyway. I’ve made enough of an ass of myself as it is.”

North scoffs. “You don’t think I’ve ever made an ass of myself?” Connor looks up. North is smiling ruefully. “You don’t think I’ve been turned down and had to go hide in a corner with my tail between my legs?”

“No?” Connor ventures.

“You’re right. I’m perfect and everybody loves me, but that’s not the point.”

“It’s not?”

“No! The point is that you’re a hot piece of ass and Anderson would be lucky to have you. You’re the only one who doesn’t know how amazing you are, and you need to start treating yourself like it.”

“Oh, okay,” Connor says, unconvinced.

“I’m serious! You’re fucking amazing and I don’t know what that Anderson’s deal is but he’s gotta be blind and stupid not to see it.”

“Yeah, no, I know I’m a catch,” Connor says and North laughs. 

For a brief moment everything doesn’t feel horrible. They sit in companionable silence and finally Connor lets the tension drain from his shoulders and neck. 

After a little while North stands up, getting ready to leave. Connor looks up at her, slightly wounded she would up and abandon him.

“Yeah, I’ve got an evening class, which you would know if you bothered to think about anything other than big, gray and grumpy,” she says by way of explanation. Connor blushes, feeling like a crappy friend. “Don’t worry, though. I’m leaving you in capable hands.

As if on cue, the door opens and Markus steps in, a huge smile on his face.

***

THURSDAY **JULY 16TH** , 2020 - PM **10:46** :32

Hank regrets the beer after the very first sip, yet he fails to stop and downs the pint in one go. When the liquid hits his tongue, he feels as if layers of stress just roll off his shoulders and he gulps it down in deep swallows. He doesn’t pause before ordering another one and downs that one as well. If he's already off the wagon, why not go for it properly?

With a cheap whiskey and another beer to go, he makes his way to one of the stalls, sits down and prepares to let himself forget for a while. He has managed to pick Salsa Night at the Tunnel and he feels a mix of nostalgia and regret deep in the pit of his stomach. He watches the people either jumping up and down in ordinary fashion or actually getting their Salsa on. It's clear some people came here to dance and others for more salacious reasons. Hank didn't come here for either, though he steals longing glances at the couples twisting and spinning each other. He remembers being one of those young things owning the dancefloor and wonders if he could ever return to that version of himself.

Who is he kidding? He will never get his life in order again. Entertaining the thought that Connor might forgive him for bailing was a stupid fucking idea. Going by the way he ridiculed him in class this afternoon, it seems the man hates him. Hank is a fucking pro at screwing things up right now.

As he wallows in self-pity, nursing his beer and mourning another failed attempt at soberness, he wonders why he even bothers with it. The drink doesn't help anymore. It doesn’t keep him from drinking.

"Hello, Handsome," someone calls from the dancefloor. 

Hank looks up from his glass to find a group of young men dancing in a tight cluster. Definitely the _get laid_ kind. The guy closest to him smiles and curls his finger in an invite, a grin across his handsome face. His friends behind him laugh. Hank is not sure if they're laughing at him, the pathetic middle-aged man drinking by himself in a fucking dance club. But the one in the front keeps motioning for him to come over and Hank has definitely seen that look before.

He suddenly feels very old and worn. These men, these boys, have no business chasing after old drunks like him. Hank waves at them and raises his glass in answer. _I'm busy._

The group disappears into the smokey crowd for a while and Hank is torn between ordering another beer and just going home. 

"Feeling shy?" a smooth voice calls. 

Hank tries to refocus his eyes on a young face, the same one who called him over before. Up close, he is bedazzled by earrings gleaming in the club's purple lights, ginger curls framing his heart shaped face. He smells of strong cologne and he looks about ready to fall into Hank's lap. One strap of his tank top hangs dangerously over his shoulder in an enticing tease. Hank swallows. Any kind of attention feels good right now.

"Who, me?" He snorts, leaning back against the couch in a semblance of confident attitude. The young man smiles, eager eyes trained on him.

"I thought you might wanna...?” he nods out to the dancefloor without finishing his sentence. “Me and my friends over there-" he waves to the group who laugh and wave back, "they said you're not here to dance, that you can't and I said, no way, you can tell this man’s got some moves!" 

The flattery gets to Hank even though he knows it's bullshit. He is tired of feeling like a big slug who keeps fucking up and the distraction in the form of this stranger is very welcome. He tilts his head. The guy is pretty enough and the cocky smile on his face says he knows it. Hank reaches out his hand.

"Hank." 

The guy's smile grows wider as he nearly drapes himself over Hank.

"Dorian. So what's it gonna be, Hank?" He wiggles his shoulders playfully and Hank chuckles. 

The beer is faintly buzzing in his veins, the restrictions he has put so tightly on himself slowly unfurling. 

"I'm not really into the bump n’ grind, kid," Hank says. 

Dorian looks briefly surprised, but then licks his lip and apparently decides to indulge him, "Oh yeah? Then what are you into?"

Hank finishes his beer and stands up. He enjoys the way Dorian's eyes widen when he sees the height difference. He's shorter than Connor. Hank doesn't know what to do with that information.

"Well, it’s Salsa night, ain’t it?"

"You know the Salsa?" Dorian asks, delighted. He turns to his friends with glee, gives them a thumbs up.

Hank suddenly wonders what he might have got himself into.

***

THURSDAY **JULY 16TH** , 2020 - PM **11:19** :54

"You and North were really deep in something, weren't you?" Markus prods right before they step into the club. 

He vaguely recognizes some people from staff, as well as a couple of younger guests that he swears he has seen at lunch before.

"We had a bit of a… disagreement," Connor says, not feeling up to discussing what has happened. Markus frowns, clearly upset that Connor is withholding something, but so what? Connor has been a rude asshole all day and he doesn't feel like letting it up tonight. Markus' puppy dog eyes melt him just a little and he continues, "I, um, put one of our students on the spot today. North was rightly upset with me."

Markus narrows his eyes, but lets it go. Connor guesses that he should be glad that his friend invited him and no one else from the gang. He has missed their talks.

The bass is so loud Connor can feel it in his feet as they get closer to the club. There’s no line and there’s no bouncer to hold them up. Connor stuffs his wallet back into his pants.

“Okay, ground rules,” says Markus as they stop before the door. “You don’t drink anything anyone gives you. You don’t go out back with anyone you don’t know. If it gets to be too much, you tell me and we leave.”

If it was anyone else telling Connor these things, he would roll his eyes and tell them _yes, of course he knows this, he’s not a child_ , but with Markus it’s just a friend letting him know he’s there for him. Connor nods and Markus winks at him and opens the door.

The music is deafening. 

Connor takes a moment to adjust to the explosion in his ears. As they step inside the heat washes over him and he starts sweating immediately.

“Let’s go get something to drink,” Markus yells in his ear and Connor nods fervently. 

He doesn’t normally drink but he thinks different rules apply at this place and he’s already on a winning streak with shots and tequila being part of the nightly routine.

Markus leads the way up to the bar and suddenly Connor thinks he understands Markus’ insistence on coming here. He recognizes Simon's blond mop of hair as he tends the bar and he’s quite familiar with the besotted smile Markus is currently wearing when he sidles up to the bar disk and starts chatting with him. 

Connor shakes his head, smiling. He can give Markus this. 

He turns around to scan the dance floor, looking for anyone he recognizes. He knows from experience that once Markus starts talking to Simon, he won’t remember anything else and that promised drink won’t be showing up anytime soon. 

Now that he knows that’s it for his and Markus' guys’ night out, he looks around. He doesn’t see anyone he knows, although it is starting to dawn on him that there are a lot of guys in this bar. Almost exclusively, he’d say. Something dawns on him and he fights down a snort. _The Tunnel_ is a very… _on the nose_ kind of name for a gay club, he thinks as he observes the people dancing. Amidst all the dancing he finally spots someone he _does_ recognize.

It’s Hank.

Rugged, stiff, burly Hank. Except he isn't stiff now. Connor freezes in his spot, watches in mixed horror and fascination as Hank sends a young man twirling on the floor. The man he just led laughs and puts his arms around Hank’s neck once he’s back in his arms. The guy has ginger hair and a tank top showing off a ridiculous amount of shoulder and chest. 

So this is the man who claims he doesn't dance, Connor thinks, regarding Hank with dark eyes. 

He grits his teeth, bristling. He turns to the bar and orders two shots from a different bartender, a short blond guy who gives him a look obvious enough for Connor to understand he could have this man, if he wanted. A thrill runs down his spine at the thought. He throws back the first shot. Meets the eyes of the bartender and downs the other one. The bartender looks thrilled. Connor winks at him and turns away. He has different plans. He slams the glass down on the counter before marching up in long strides to Hank.

Hank is leaning in to listen to something the ginger man is saying and smiling. After a moment he throws his head back and roars laughing. Connor stops and closes his fists a few paces away.

When Hank places a hand on the well-defined shoulder of the ginger man, Connor has seen enough.

He finishes his march up to Hank, taps the ginger guy on the shoulder and smiles predatorily at him when he turns around confused.

“Do you mind if I cut in?” he asks sweetly.

The guy looks even more confused for a second before a wrinkle appears between his brows. He’s apparently going to argue.

"Actually, we're kinda talking right now," Ginger says dismissively.

Connor kind of wants to punch him in the face.

“It was nice talking to you, Dorian, but I need to speak with my friend here,” Hank cuts in, voice all rumbly and Connor suppresses a shiver.

Dorian scoffs, giving Hank a prissy look.

“Whatever,” he says and walks away, hips swinging aggressively. He shoulder-checks Connor on the way and he stumbles a little.

Connor doesn’t watch him leave. He’s staring at Hank who is staring right back.

“Well, Connor,” Hank says eventually. “Mission accomplished. You scared away the nice man looking for a sweet time.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I think you did that all by yourself,” Connor replies and blinks as the shots make their presence known and the room sways a little.

Hank wobbles a bit on the spot, looking buzzed. He puts his hands on his hips and stares Connor down. His eyes are an electric blue, hard and calculating. 

"All right, and why did you feel like stepping in to finish the job for me, then?" Hank asks, and by the tone of his voice he isn't interested in letting Connor act the wounded party anymore.

"Seriously?" Connor spits despite himself. "Why the hell do you think?" He doesn't want to give voice to the fear that yes, Hank might be queer but no, he's not into Connor. "You either see yourself above the simple steps in class and prefer to show off in a lit-down skanky club like this, or you're just embarrassed that I’m better than you!"

He's not quite sure what he wants to convey, but he still feels wronged somehow and he needs to fight Hank about it. He wants Hank to fight back, get angry and shout back, give him something familiar to work with. Instead, Hank shakes his head and when he looks up, his eyes gleam.

"You think you could keep up with me in this scene? These are the places I learned it all," he says with a swipe of his hand to the dancefloor.

"Figures," Connor scoffs, folding his arms, but he nevertheless leans in. 

Hank smirks, looking oh so cocky now that he has Connor on the hook. He has a narrow gap between his front teeth. It's ugly and not at all charming or endearing, Connor insists.

He is not going to make a fool of himself again, to ask him to dance. He stands rooted in place and waits for Hank to make a move.

“Either way,” says Hank. “We’re alone now.”

Connor blinks slowly. Yes, alone. That was the goal.

He’s not quite sure what the goal was, but this was apparently part of it.

“So, this where you spend all your nights?” He goes for casual and misses by a long shot. “No wonder you show up hung-over and useless to dance class.”

Hank looks ready to argue but instead stops and looks at Connor, up and down. 

Maybe Connor crossed a line, because Hank knits his brows. Connor fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt for a second. He tries to beat down the blush he can feel climbing up his throat.

“And what might you be doing here?” Hank asks when his eyes have returned to Connor’s face.

“Just accompanying a friend,” Connor replies and nods his head back at the bar where Markus is leaning halfway across the bar disk listening to something Simon is saying.

Hank looks amused.

“Yeah, that’s bound to happen sooner rather than later.” Connor agrees but he’s not going to say that. “Still, pretty kind of you to come along just to be shoved aside soon as Pretty Blond over there bats his eyes at your friend.”

“I don’t know what you define as friendship-” Connor begins hotly but Hank is already waving his apology.

“Nah, I’m just saying,” Hank says, “You might want to consider finding something to do while you’re here. Your friend isn’t going anywhere any time soon.”

Connor glances at Markus who is currently telling a joke and Simon is leaning in close, listening intently with a huge smile on his face. Then he leans back and laughs so loud even Connor and Hank can hear him. Connor has heard Markus’ jokes; they’re not that good. Connor is happy for his friend.

“I thought I already had,” says Connor to Hank who, Connor realizes when he turns back to look at him, hasn’t stopped staring at him.

“What?” says Hank.

“Found something to do.”

They stare at each other for a moment. Hank swallows. Then Connor realizes what his words might sound like and immediately turns beet red.

“I mean talking!” he shrieks and turns to leave, his pulse beating a mile a minute.

A hand grabs his wrist and he stops.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” says Hank and his voice is coming from very close behind him.

Connor does a full body shiver and says nothing. He can feel the air puffing out from Hank's mouth on his skin, making small goosebumps rise on his neck.

“Why don’t we start over,” Hank offers, and Connor can smell the whiskey on his breath.

Connor takes a breath and turns around.

“How?”

Hank looks delighted.

“Hello, Connor,” he says with a cheery smile and puts out a hand to shake. Connor tentatively takes it. “Fancy seeing you here.” Hank places his other hand on Connor’s and envelopes his hand in a soft, big grip that feels entirely too intimate. “Been here before?”

Connor shakes his head. 

“My first time.”

Hank’s eyebrows rise high on his forehead and Connor wants to bite off his tongue for all the good it’s doing him tonight.

“First time _here,_ I mean!” he chokes out.

Hanks laughs, a quiet, personal thing between just the two of them.

“Well, I’ve been here a couple of times. It’s a nice place to talk to people.”

“Just talk?” Connor asks. Warmth is radiating up in his chest and he wonders if it’s Hank or the alcohol.

Hank looks down at him and Connor thinks, not for the first time, that Hank is very big. If he held him in his arms, Connor would be completely surrounded. It’s not a bad thought.

“Could be something more,” Hanks says hesitantly.

Connor looks down and sees they’re still holding hands, _shaking hands_ , he mentally corrects. He pulls his hand out of the grip and takes a step back. He needs air.

Hank clears his throat.

“Have you had the chance to dance yet?” he asks, and Connor’s eyes snap up to meet his.

“You dance?” he asks and can’t help the sarcasm from bleeding into his voice.

Hank raises his eyebrows and Connor wants to apologize.

“I might not look like much, but I’ve been swinging around on the floor a few times in my youth.”

It shouldn’t sound dirty, but the way Hank is looking at him is making something curl hotly in his stomach and Connor tries to find words to answer. It’s very difficult. Hank has taken a step closer again and his face is only a breath away. Connor almost turns cross-eyed. He can smell the whiskey.

“Um,” he says intelligently.

“Why don’t I take you for a swing,” Hank offers and wiggles his eyebrows.

The moment is broken, and Connor laughs loudly. Hank’s face falls for a second and he steps back, putting up a hand behind his head, scratching in obvious embarrassment.

“Oh, no, sorry!” Connor says quickly. “I didn’t mean to laugh,” he forces out. “It’s just, your- your eyebrows,” he chokes and Hank stares at him for a long moment. 

The air has returned to Connor’s lungs and he thinks maybe he blew it (he doesn’t question what _it_ might be). His laughter dies away slowly. He meets Hank’s eyes, who’s looking at him intently. Something is twitching in his eyes. Connor holds his breath. Then Hank breaks, and he laughs. Connor joins in, twice as loudly and soon he’s panting for air. Hank’s entire chest is rumbling with his laughter.

“You making fun of me, Connor?” Hank asks. “You making fun of these bad boys, huh?” he asks and wiggles his eyebrows outrageously.

Connor is gasping for breath, trying to deny any such thing. He takes a look at Hank again and sees the wild movement of his brows and collapses back into fits of laughter.

“Stop,” he wheezes. “I give!”

Hank laughs some more and bends over, puts a hand on Connor’s shoulder, all the while still laughing.

Eventually their mirth simmers down. Hank wipes away a tear and looks down on Connor. Connor can feel his cheeks hurting from stretching so wide.

“Wanna dance?” he asks, suddenly bold.

“Sure you can handle it?” Hank asks, leaning in.

Connor looks at him, a silent challenge, saying _you talking to me_?

Hank doesn’t appear worried and it rags him.

“What? You think you can keep up?” Connor challenges, leaning up into Hank’s face. Seeing those blue eyes up close, twinkling at him, turns out to be a mistake, because he forgets what he is doing. “Huh?” he finishes lamely and Hank smirks.

“I think,” Hank says and puts his hands on Connor’s hips, “you’ll find you’re the one having a hard time keeping up.”

He pulls Connor further out onto the dancefloor by his hips, his hands enormous, almost spanning all the way around his back. Connor places his hands on Hank’s chest to not lose his balance. The skin underneath the shirt is warm and Connor can feel the definition of his pectorals. He swallows.

“All right, loosen up,” says Hank and moves Connor’s hips with his hands. “Feel the music,” he says, a smirk on his face and Connor recognizes those tips. He bites down on a scathing retort.

Hank's hand comes up to grip Connor’s and he brings him into a soft twirl before caging him back into his body. Connor follows with ease.

Is this happening? Hank is actually dancing with Connor. His grip is sure, and Connor feels safe enough to lean into it. They step easily into the Salsa, a close and intimate embrace forming between them. Connor presses closer to him, meeting his gaze head on.

Then Hank nudges a knee between Connor's legs and begins to lead him on the floor. It’s not a perfect Salsa but something much more sensual. Hank’s hands on his body are warm. Everything around them is a blur. It might be the shots.

They dance for a long while. It feels like seconds. Finally the music changes but Connor is still caught up in the movement with Hank, so intimate and close. He doesn’t know when he closed his eyes. Hank’s grip on him changes and Connor opens his eyes. He finally focuses enough to listen to the music. It’s no longer the Salsa but something slower with a deeper beat. No matter, he can improvise! He glances around to see what the other couples are doing, to gather an idea of what kind of dancing they should be doing now.

All saliva in his mouth dries up when he finally notices what kind of dancing is going on.

If it can be called dancing.

People are _grinding_ against each other. Right on the dancefloor. Rubbing up against each other’s chests and… lower parts. Swaying, barely to the beat of the music but to some other, more primal thrumming sound. Clothes seem to be optional as Connor can see multiple bare chests, sweat glistening on their skin. Touches are less innocent, lingering in places not appropriate in a public setting. 

Connor looks back at Hank with wide eyes and a madly beating heart. He can’t tell if the swirl in his stomach is an oncoming panic attack or excitement.

Hank is watching him closely.

“What kind of bar is this?” Connor hisses and that’s not really what he wants to ask but it’s what comes out.

Hank stops completely. He glances at the moving bodies around them with a raised eyebrow and Connor blushes.

“I m-mean,” he tries to cover.

“Are you not into that?” Hank asks and drops his hands.

Connor’s hips feel very cold all of a sudden.

“No! I mean yes! I mean, that’s not-”

“It’s not what? Any of my business?” Hank asks. “Connor, you chased off the guy I was dancing with and draped yourself over me all night, flirting. It doesn’t have to lead to anything but you’re sending some mixed messages here.”

“I didn’t flirt,” Connor protests weakly and Hank does him the favor of not responding to that.

Hank looks at him, waiting for him to figure his shit out, maybe. Connor doesn’t know if he will.

“Look, I’m sorry about this. I’ll leave you to enjoy the evening and won’t bother you anymore,” Hank says and takes a step back.

Connor chokes back an instant protest swelling in his throat.

“But I’ll see you tomorrow in dance class, right? No hard feelings.”

Connor shakes his head and Hank looks sad.

“No, I mean,” Connor scrambles to make his mouth form words. “You don’t have to leave.”

Hank looks hesitant, stares down on the floor for a second before up at Connor again. Connor can’t believe how much he wants those eyes on him. He steps closer to Hank, closing the distance between them again.

“Please stay,” he whispers in Hank’s ear and shivers when Hank’s hands come up to grip his hips again.

“All right,” says Hank gravelly. “Just for one dance.”

Connor hums in pleasure as Hank pulls him closer to his body until they’re flush against each other. He can feel Hank’s warmth against his own skin, all over his chest and hips and thighs. He puts his hands on Hank’s arms, dragging them up to his shoulders.

“That’s it,” says Hank, a whisper in Connor’s ear. Connor shivers and breathes him in.

They move to the beat of music Connor can’t hear. He’s too busy drowning in the air coming in small puffs against his throat. Hank’s beard scratches against his skin and Connor swallows a sound he’s not prepared to hear.

He’s relaxing into Hank’s embrace, realizing the steps aren’t complicated, a much more instinctual movement. Hank guides his hips with warm hands and small squeezes. The man is so different here, on the dancefloor, his body loose and sure. Connor’s stomach is doing somersaults as he places a hand on Hank’s neck and lets the other trail down to the small of his back. Completely in the moment, he dares a risky move, loosening the hands on Hank’s body, to slowly bend his upper body back. Being quite flexible, he makes it look smooth and graceful. He is bent far back, completely trusting Hank to carry his weight. His hands travel sensually over his head as he bends down almost to the floor. He locks eyes with Hank when he comes back up, letting his hands tread around Hank’s neck with whisper light touch. Hank is looking at him with wide eyes and his mouth slightly ajar. Connor winks and feels the heat in his cheeks.

Hank hums approvingly and slides his hand down to Connor’s ass, squeezing. They moan together.

“Hank,” he says and pulls on a few loose strands of hair at his neck.

Hank growls and nips his throat and Connor almost melts into the floor.

Then Hank moves his other hand to Connor’s upper thigh and pulls. Connor, who has done many different dances in many different positions, knows what it means, and raises his leg to let Hank guide it up onto his hip. What he isn’t prepared for is how close Hank pulls him, supporting Connor with the hand on his bottom.

“Oh,” Connor chokes when he feels Hank’s hardness meet his own.

Hank rumbles a sound of pleasure in his ear and something disconnects in Connor’s head. He is nothing more than nerves and skin and sweat, the music beating somewhere far away. He pulls on Hank’s shirt and his hair and presses himself close to the body that is holding him up.

The movement of their hips together is maddening, and Connor is building up to something that he doesn’t have the brain capacity to spare. He puts his teeth to Hank’s collarbone and bites, enjoying the rumbling that erupts in the chest right next to his ear.

Hank squeezes his ass and Connor undulates against the contact, deepening the grinding. Another moan escapes and he can’t tell who it’s coming from.

The hand on his thigh travels down to the inside and up, following the trail up to his-

“Connor!”

Someone is pulling him loose and Connor doesn’t want to go.

He squeezes more firmly against the warm body holding him but the hand on his shoulder is insistent and drags him back. The hand holding his thigh lets go and he lands with both feet back on the ground. Cool air swooshes between them and Connor blinks his eyes open. Hank is letting him go and stepping back, his face a charming red. He’s holding up his arms in apology.

“Connor!” Markus yells at him and Connor reluctantly turns to look at him.

“What?” he snaps and regrets it almost immediately when Markus frowns at him.

“We should get going,” Markus says. He doesn’t really appear to notice Hank and the fact that Connor was kind of busy. Connor can’t decide between irritation and relief. “I promised Simon I’d drive him home. And we’ve both got early classes tomorrow anyways.”

Slowly the real world filters back in. Connor turns to look at Hank and sees the chagrined smile on his face. Right. Dance class. Where Hank is a student. A student with whom Connor has already crossed several professional lines, the grossly intimate dancing tonight not included. He chances a look around them, but people seem busy as ever with their own grinding and writhing. He quickly looks back at Hank.

“I guess I’ll see you in class tomorrow, Hank,” Connor offers and Hank smiles.

Something like relief floods Connor’s system and he smiles back.

“Yeah, I’ll see ya,” Hank mumbles and Connor, for some unconceivable reason, blushes.

“This is unbelievable,” Markus says loudly, completely oblivious to the tension between Connor and Hank, and pulls on Connor’s arm until his feet start working. Connor doesn’t know what he’s talking about but can guess it has to do with the overly crowded club where people’s bodies keep pressing in on them. They move towards what Connor must guess is the exit, although he couldn’t tell up from down right now with a gun to his head.

“Bye,” Connor says to Hank and Hank waves with laughter in his eyes.

It’s a good look on him.

“See ya,” he mouths and Connor smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor: he should put his hair up, let his neck breathe, let it be FREE  
> Hank: ...
> 
> \---
> 
> North: I'm a LESBIAN  
> Hank: that's a good strategy


	5. Friday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We thought of this, wrote it and started publishing well after the corona pandemic started and we didn't realize until way later that since we set it to play out this year, it should have been included. Guess we could have set it in 2019 but where's the fun in that? We also thought it might be nice not to be reminded of it all the time so just pretend it's part of the "alternate" in the AU.
> 
> Also, we apologise in advance for this chapter...

FRIDAY **JULY 17TH** , 2020 - AM **07:01** :26

“Who decides to go running the morning after a night out?” Markus whines, even as he drags his sneakers on. He’s still determined to go through with the plan they made days ago. Connor ties his shoes and takes with him an empty bottle to fill up at their halfway point. He has barely slept and is currently running on fumes, too many thoughts have been circling in his mind lately. Markus’ pouting puts him at ease though, a welcome distraction from his own problems. It’s comforting to know he’s not alone in this stupid pining.

They don’t have to go for a long run, anyway. Just long enough for Markus to show off his lean body and powerful strides. 

The downside of living this close to water by the woods is the never ending colony of mosquitoes following them everywhere. They're like homing missiles and Connor is already scratching at three different bites. Combined with the heat from the morning sun it makes for a fairly uncomfortable run. Connor feels himself sweating even more than usual after last night, his body purging the shots from his system. He gets nauseous and must steady himself a little.

Despite Markus being a generally fit guy, he looks like death warmed over even five minutes into the jog. He’s still light on his feet but Connor slows his pace anyway. It’s in consideration of Markus but also his own nausea. 

Their goal is to reach the boardwalk by the hotel, then head back. 

Once they reach the edge of the forest, the trees make way for grass, cottages lining the sandy beach.

Simon is rolling up his yoga mat when they pass him. Markus’ chest puffs up when he stands up, mat under his arm, and gives them a light wave. Connor waves back enthusiastically, partly because he likes Simon and mostly to embarrass Markus. 

“You’re up early!” Simon calls and Connor snorts because it is definitely directed at Markus. ”Missed you in my class today!” This part is directed at Connor.

They are almost past him, so it is difficult to do more than wave with a chagrined smile. 

When Simon is out of sight, Markus immediately sags and starts dragging his feet. Connor is relieved and they decide to just walk the rest of the way to the halfway point.

“Finally!” Markus sprints the last few paces to the lamppost where they have decided to take their break. “This was a terrible idea, Connor. I’m still hungover. Also, I hate running.”

Connor reaches him and leans over, panting while Markus refills his water bottle. They’re both sweating heavily, and the sun is really beating down on their backs. 

“I guess hangovers and exertion in hot summer weather are not the best combos.”

Connor uses the fabric of his shirt to fan himself. He fills up his water bottle in the water tap once Markus is done. They are both so sweaty that they probably could wring out both hair and clothes. Markus takes a gulp of water, wiping his forehead. 

“You ready?” Connor asks, taking another small sip, trying to pace his intake to avoid further nausea. 

Markus sighs dramatically, but determined as ever, he straightens up and nods. They start down the same path back to the lake house, when Connor notices, in horror, the man walking right up towards them, a very large dog leading the way. 

Hank doesn’t seem to have noticed them. He’s dressed in a hoodie that looks way too warm for this heat, while Sumo pulls energetically on his lead. Markus, looking for any excuse to stop, slows down to say hello and pet Sumo. Panicked that Hank might see him like this, sweaty and red and gross, Connor grabs his wrist to stop him and pulls him onto the path that’s longer but Hank-free.

“Let’s go this way,” Connor says but Markus digs his heels in.

“What, no! Connor, I’m exhausted!”

Connor turns to him with pleading eyes. Markus is giving him a scrutinizing look but isn’t budging. Connor slumps.

“All right, I’ll go this way, though. See you back at the house,” he says even as he turns around and begins jogging at a very brisk pace away from him.

“Hey!” Markus calls after him but Connor doesn’t turn around. “Connor, where are you going?”

Connor lowers his head and runs as fast as he can.

“What happened back there?” Markus asks once they meet back at the lake house. “Why’d you run away? I had to explain to Mr. Anderson that you had to pee, or he’d think you hated him.”

Markus is lying on the grass, waiting for him. Connor is drenched in sweat and can barely stand. He ran, probably longer and faster than he had to, but he couldn’t take the risk. In retrospect, he might have done more damage than good to Hanks image of him.

He lies down next to Markus with a groan that gets even louder when he checks the watch and sees that he has to meet North in fifteen minutes.

“I don’t even know where to begin.”

***

FRIDAY **JULY 17TH** , 2020 - AM **07:55** :59

Hank clenches his fists subconsciously, feeling his jaws work as he stands outside the studio. 

Five minutes until the class starts. Through the sheer curtains drawn over the windows, he can make out Connor's familiar form, his lithe body contorted in a standing split. It's cursed information for Hank's brain.

This is a terrible idea, even worse than the whole evening before. Hank has a splitting headache that stretches from behind his eyes down to his shoulders. 

He has to stop this, for Connor's sake. 

"Hey," Hank calls as he knocks on the open door before coming in. 

He sees North scurrying to the bathroom as Connor peers up from the floor, his freckled face breaking into a warm smile. The specks of moles dotting shoulder and face are even more visible in the morning light. One hour ago, he was too flushed for the freckles and moles to stand out when he came running down the boardwalk like a fucking Adonis. Hank mourned the fact that Connor ran the other way so that he didn't get a chance to take him in fully.

Now, in the lovely morning light, he looks like an angel. 

Why does North have to be here?

Hank hears his colleagues coming in behind him as Connor stands up and saunters over to greet him. Hank wants to tear his eyes away from him, almost afraid by the way Connor watches him, as if he would suddenly throw himself on Hank and neck him. 

Oh, those images that come flashing in his mind at this moment. 

Connor bites his lower lip, dragging his eyes up and down Hank’s body. Hank flushes self-consciously. 

"I didn't think you'd show up this morning," Connor says, mirth in his expression. 

Hank wants to fan himself. He shouldn't have come. He should get out of here right this instant. Running away with his tail between his legs can’t be worse than what’s about to come. 

These thoughts don’t stop what’s coming out of his mouth, though.

"And miss watching you dance all morning? I think not," he chuffs.

Connor's laugh is bubbly, infectious. He passes Hank, his woody scent wafting past him as he pulls the doors open further for the other students. 

***

The Jive is a fucking pain in the ass, even for Hank. He has never been one for the fast paced, jumping-up-and-down styles, his knees already aching from the first basic steps. 

The upside is that he doesn't have to pretend to be terrible at it. There is no way he'll ever do this again, he thinks as he peers over at Chris and Jeffrey working hard to get the bounce just right. Though he’s keeping face, Jeffrey appears to be struggling as much as Hank.

When he is paired up with Hannah from drug enforcement, he apologizes in advance. She laughs in relief, joking that she is probably just as bad, and Hank manages to get through the exercise with some pride left intact.

Then Connor comes over as they go through the basic steps for the fifth time in a row, approaching Hank from behind with a warm hand on his shoulder. Hank sucks in a breath at the sudden contact, taking a second to calm down before turning towards Connor to cover the fact that he wants to push him into a wall and dig his teeth into his neck. Connor's brown eyes crinkle in a smile as if he knows exactly what Hank is thinking. He asks them how they're doing. Hank's tongue is stuck and he can't find any words. Hannah thankfully takes over.

"Oh, Connor, I just can't get the last kick right! We keep going over it, but it just feels like I'm tripping over my own feet!"

Connor chuckles, a warm sound that sends butterflies to Hank’s stomach. His hand hasn’t left Hank’s shoulder.

"I know, it can be quite a tricky step. Here, let’s see if I can help. Could you show me how you're doing it now?" 

Hank observes as Connor studies Hannah's steps, stops her gently when he finds the problem in the execution and stands next to her in order to show her how it’s done.

He is a good teacher. Patient, kind and funny. Hank hears Hannah laugh at one of Connor's jokes. He giggles back in return, the sweet musical sound sending jolts through Hank's body.

"Mr. Anderson, may I?" Connor asks suddenly with hands reaching for him. 

Hank is jerked back into the present. He stares at Connor for a second, dumbfounded, before he takes his hands. Connor makes sure Hannah sees what he's doing. Hank tries to keep up as Connor explains how to apply the steps in a routine. He takes the role of Hannah, forcing Hank to lead. Hank does what he can, but it’s mostly Connor’s excellent form that keeps the show together. They do it slower than to the actual music but it’s still a fast-paced dance, which is lucky. If it was slow or one of the more sensual ones, Hank would combust instantly. As it is, it’s a near thing.

The way Connor pretends they weren't all over each other last night is both frustrating, and really fucking hot.

***

"Hey, I just thought I should, y'know, give you a heads up," Hank begins, reddening as he realizes how fucking awkward he sounds with North next to him and Connor. North, who only knows him as the washed-up cop that shows up to dance class and refuses to dance. 

This is for Connor's sake, he reminds himself.

"Something the matter?" Connor asks, and while he sounds calm, his fingers tapping at his sides are giving his anxiety away. 

"I-um… I won’t be taking the rest of the dance classes," Hank explains and the way Connor's face falls makes him want to take it back.

"Oh," Connor breathes. 

North observes Hank, arms crossed. Her eyes narrow and she throws a strange look at Connor. Then she breathes in. "That's all right, most people only stay for a few of the dances. You've really made progress this week," she adds encouragingly. Hank knows she's lying and it makes him laugh just a little. In the corner of his eye, he can tell Connor is holding back a small smile.

"Just wanted to say that, er," Hank stammers, "You guys are great teachers. Had a lotta fun this week." 

That's mostly a lie as well, but it's worth it to see Connor's face light up. North bows.

"Thank you. Well, I better go tidy up in here. See you around, Hank!"

She turns back inside and gives Connor a meaningful look that Hank can't read. Connor nods at her, but doesn't say anything once she's out of earshot. He stares at the ground.

Hank doesn't know what to say.

"Is it because of me?" Connor eventually asks, voice small. Hank can't believe what he's hearing and does a double take.

"No! Of course not!” he says, vehemently. Then pauses, “Well, maybe yes," he concedes. "But I gotta tell you that I would've dropped out the very first day if it wasn't for you." 

"Really."

Connor finally looks up, the smile almost back now. Hank feels warmth bubbling in his chest.

"Really," Hank confirms. "Look, this, this thing going on-" he gestures needlessly between them, "could damage your work here, and I do not wanna fuck up your chances with the university. I'm not worth it," he continues and watches with dread as the color drains from Connor's face.

"Oh." He's quiet again. Too quiet. Hank needs to say something. He can't handle that look on Connor's face. "That doesn't have to mean you can't still be in class, though."

"Believe me, it does," Hank says. "If I'm gonna keep my sanity."

Connor blushes and looks ready to protest but Hank raises his eyebrows in emphasis.

They stay silent. The easy banter yesterday is but a fucking memory right now. 

"Look, once this term is over and you're back in Detroit, we could, I don't know, grab a coffee?" Hank says, shrugging his shoulders as if that's not the most terrifying and thrilling thought he has had in months. "I can take you in my car with the blue lights on. Helps getting through traffic."

"You and your disregard for the law," Connor finally laughs reluctantly, even though Hank can still see the disappointment written across his face. He purses his lips as if in thought. "Yeah, coffee. I'd like that."

***

FRIDAY **JULY 17TH** , 2020 - PM **04:08** :14

“All you ever do is dance,” Markus says, and his voice is compassionate but still, it stings.

“That’s not true,” Connor says.

“-and when you don’t,” Markus continues uninterrupted, “you think about dance.”

Connor doesn’t bother protesting. What would he even say? That lately he has been preoccupied with one hard-boiled, eccentric police sergeant?

“I don’t say it to be mean,” Markus says, and just because it’s Markus, Connor actually believes him, “But I think it would do you some good to do something else for a change.”

“Like what?” Connor asks, although he has no intention of doing anything.

Markus is quiet for a second, and Connor has a foreboding feeling that he is not going to like what’s about to come.

“How about taking one of the rowboats? It’s perfect weather for it.” Markus gestures to the blue sky.

Connor is somewhat surprised. He has known Markus for several years now and he has never once suggested they do anything outside. Not without ulterior motives, at least. He narrows his eyes at Markus who is looking very innocent. Too innocent.

“Why?” Connor asks slowly.

“What do you mean, it’s blue skies.”

Connor is too eager for something to distract him to say no.

When they get down to the water, Connor can see one of the rowing boats out on the water. He thinks back to the schedule for activities, suddenly worried they’ll be interrupting one of the classes. It does seem to be only one boat, though.

As they get closer, Connor sees that most of the boats are gone. He asks Markus about it.

Markus shrugs, “There’s one left for us,” he says and gestures for the remaining rowing boat. “Did you check it was okay with Daniel that we could borrow one of the boats?” Connor asks.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Markus smiles. “Help me get it out on the water.”

Together they shuffle the boat across the sand. Connor jumps in once it reaches the water. He enjoys the rush he feels when the boat slides from shallow water out onto the lake. It’s an exhilarating feeling. He smiles a little and Markus grins, only a little self-satisfactory, as he also jumps into the boat.

Daniel, who keeps tabs on the boats and doubles as a lifeguard, waves them off.

There’s only a small breeze but it picks up as they get further out. Just enough to cool them down in the otherwise hot afternoon sun. Markus drops one of his hands into the water, humming at the sensation. The boat changes directions only slightly. Connor counters it with a huff. Markus cackles and splashes him with the water cupped his hand.

“The water is nice, isn’t it,” he teases.

“Uh-huh, yeah, great,” Connor says sardonically, wiping his face with his shoulder.

“Want some more?” Markus says and cups his hands, trying to get as much water scooped up as he can and throws at Connor.

Connor yells and almost hits Markus with an ore. Markus grabs ahold of it and the interrupted momentum wrings the ore out of Connor’s grip. Markus, unprepared for this, drops it as well and they both stop to watch the ore float away.

“Well,” says Markus.

“Well,” agrees Connor.

It is at this moment Connor catches sight of the lone rowing boat still floating out further on the lake. The person in it is wearing the regulatory life-vest and Connor suspects it might be a student who has lagged behind the group. He wonders if it’s Josh leading this group and if he has noticed one of his students missing.

“Hey, Markus,” Connor says, and Markus looks up from following the ore with his eyes. “Should we see if that person needs help?”

“We need help, Connor,” Markus says, and Connor admits this is true.

“Maybe we can help each other.”

“You’re always such an optimist.”

They put their hands into the water, trying to paddle up to the ore, but it’s highly ineffective and at first they go around in a circle. It’s hysterical and before they straighten out their path towards the lone student they have to catch their breath from laughter. Then they catch up to the other rowboat and Connor stops smiling.

“Hello, Mr. Anderson!” Markus calls to Hank. Of course it’s Hank in the other boat. Connor shrinks in his seat and resists the instinct to shush his loud friend. “Do you need help?”

Hank turns around in the boat. Sumo is in there with him, lifting his big head, tongue lolling out and he pants happily when he sees them. Hank startles violently when he sees Connor. Sumo, eager to join in on whatever fun games his owner is up to, shuffles to his feet, tail wagging energetically.

“Connor,” Hank says and then, “Sit down, Sumo!” 

Connor hears Hank swear to himself as Sumo rocks the boat even more when he sits back down. Markus practically beams at the furry beast, voice pitching high as he greets Sumo. He leans further out of the boat subconsciously, sticking out a hand almost as if to pet Sumo from several yards away. Sumo perks up, tilts his head. 

“Markus,” Connor warns, seeing Sumo getting restless in the boat. Markus ignores him, keeps making encouraging cooing noises. He can predict what’s going to happen about a second before it does. 

Hank yells, “Sumo, stay!” and then the excited dog jumps ship, making a huge splash as he lands tummy first. 

Hank stands up when he sees Sumo jump in. The waves hit the boat forcefully, and he wobbles as he tries to regain his balance. Connor is about to yell out a warning, but he sees Hank make a decision and says nothing as the man kicks off his shoes and jumps in. He sits in shock, silent as Hank emerges from the water, dripping wet and charges forward with strong strokes. He reaches Sumo in seconds. The dog is paddling furiously, having realized his mistake and trying to reach safety again. Hank almost manages to drown his own dog and himself as he grabs ahold of Sumo and pulls him back to their boat.

Markus is very quiet beside Connor, looking unsure. Connor gives him an impressive glare and snatches up the ore that has coincidentally floated closer to them. He rows them up to Hank’s boat and helps hold the counterweight when Hank shoves Sumo aboard and then crawls up himself. Sumo shakes his enormous body and the fur stands out like those enormous car wash spins. The movement is so strong, the boat rocks again. Hank doesn’t look happy as he wrings out his hair and drags his fingers through it, out of his eyes. Water is dripping down his face, glistening in the sun. He falls back on the floor in the boat, his chest heaving.

“You okay?” Connor asks quietly, his mouth dry. 

Hank doesn’t answer. He’s petting Sumo absentmindedly. Markus stretches out a hand as well to pet the dog. Still recovering on his back, Hank grabs ahold of Sumo’s collar at the same time as Connor grabs Markus’ wrist, stopping his movement. Connor gives him a look he feels conveys his absolute fury with him, and Markus lowers his hand, looking cowed.

“I’m gonna head back to shore,” Hank breathes heavily but doesn’t move. “Nice to see you again, Connor. Markus.”

“Yeah. You, too, Hank,” Connor mumbles miserably. 

He lets go of the reeling of Hank’s boat, letting it float away.

He and Markus remain on the water for a little while. There’s a silence between them, Connor trying not to think. Markus is moving restlessly but Connor has taken the ores in a childish act of revenge. 

It’s still quiet, Markus fiddling with a loose splinter in the wood, when he looks up, an almost startled look on his face.

“Wait, that’s the guy you were dancing with the other night!”

Connor says nothing and tries to fight down an eager blush. He puts the ores back into the water and starts rowing them back to shore.

“Wow, that’s like double embarrassment for you, huh?” Markus says and sounds way too thrilled about it.

***

FRIDAY **JULY 17TH** , 2020 - PM **06:36** :12

The grills are burning hot and only Jeffrey who is self-designated grill master endures the heat in the summer night, stroking the coals and waves away the smoke in good humor. It looks like a heatstroke waiting to happen. Hank gulps down his ice water.

“Man, I am starving,” Chris says, also looking at the grills.

Hank grunts in agreement.

This isn’t exactly his scene. Or rather, it used to be, when he could drink a beer, laugh with the guys and feel like one of them. Now he watches them drink and tries not to long for it. He tries to think of something different to say other than, “man, this beer takes like shit, why would anyone drink it” and then drink it anyway. He’s so sick of his colleagues walking on eggshells around him, like he’s a fucking time bomb. It doesn’t feel better for the fact that he screwed up and got that fucking drink yesterday.

“Yo, Hank,” says Gavin, already drunk as he slings an arm over Hank’s shoulder and uses the other to tip his beer back to drink. He muffles a burp and says, “You havin’ fun?”

And then there’s the other kind of person, Hank thinks miserably. The kind that doesn’t give a fuck. That should be the better kind, he thinks, only now he can smell it and he’s angry because Gavin is a fucking idiot and that’s never a good combo.

“I’m fucking ecstatic,” he says and shrugs Gavin’s arm off him.

“Heard you went for a swim,” Gavin says gleefully, ignoring Hank’s dismissiveness. “Heard you jumped in the water.”

He’s snickering like he just landed the most devastating insult and Hank rolls his eyes.

“Great,” he grouts and walks away to refill his water.

“Is he drunk?” Ben asks him as Hank joins him at the drinks table. He’s sweating a lot in the heat and Hank pities him. “It’s barely started,” Ben continues and checks his watch.

Hank thinks he’s going to get a sunburn with a white stripe across his wrist from where the watch has been sitting all week. Ben doesn’t appear to mind, though. He never takes it off, anyway.

“When is Gavin not drunk when there’s alcohol?” Hank says in reply and puts his newly refilled glass to his forehead, enjoying the chill.

“True enough,” Ben chuckles in appreciation. Then, “Hey, have you spoken to Jeffrey?”

Hank pauses, “Not today, I haven’t. Why?”

Ben shrugs, “Nothing important, don’t look so angry. He just mentioned he was looking to talk to you.”

“Okay,” Hank says, wondering why they fuck they were playing the whispering game. If Jeffrey wants to talk to him he should just call, or text. “I’ll see what he wants, then.”

“You do that,” Ben says, good-naturedly as he’s uncapping a light beer.

Hank grunts, grabs a beer and walks away. The hot grills don’t look any more appealing now than they did a moment ago. Going for casual, he slides in next to Jeffrey, grabbing one of the poking sticks and begins shuffling the coal around.

“It’s like a fucking furnace here,” Hank says, and Jeffrey looks up, scowling.

“Yeah, I hadn’t noticed. Now would you stop touching the fucking coal so it can settle and we can start grilling sometime this century?”

Hank drops the stick back down and offers up the beer in a peace offering. Jeffrey looks at it, suspicious, then grabs it and downs the entire thing. He breathes a sigh of relief when it’s done.

“Ah, I needed that,” Jeffrey says, wiping his mouth. “An entire staff of subordinates and not one of them thinks to bring their boss a drink. Fucking useless.”

Hank laughs in agreement. It’s an old joke, referring to their old captain from when they were fresh out of the academy. The man had been a hard man to please.

“So,” Jeffrey eventually says, letting the sentence linger.

“So?” Hank asks, although he has no interest in hearing where this is going.

“You’re doing better.”

“Jeffrey,” Hank says, sighing.

“It’s just an observation.”

Although it's never just anything.

“Yeah, I’ve had some good days.” _And some bad ones, too._

“More like good months. I’ve been looking and Hank,” Jeffrey pauses until Hank reluctantly looks up, “It’s looking good.”

“Fucking hell,” Hank mutters, wishing more earnestly for something stronger to drink.

“Have you given some thoughts to retaking your lieutenant's exam? Going for that career ladder you were shooting up before?”

 _Before your son died and you gave up on life_ , he doesn’t say. Hank’s not sure he’s thankful or not that Jeffrey doesn't open that can of worms. 

He doesn’t answer. He looks into the flames, dying down in the grill. Has he thought about it? He’s not sure. When Cole died, everything stopped mattering. His job, his house, his personal hygiene. Certainly his fucking promotion. He feels like he’s worlds away from when he last cared about any of that shit. Except it’s not really true anymore, is it? He’s been doing better. He has just been too scared to notice that the all-nighters are further in between, the binges more sporadic and the liquor not as hard. 

Rock bottom is really far down when you’ve actually started climbing up.

“Just think about it,” Jeffrey says, clapping him on the back. “It’s not too late. You’re still young.”

Hank huffs, “Fuck you very much.”

But he’s smiling and Jeffrey sees it. He looks relieved.

***

FRIDAY **JULY 17TH** , 2020 - PM **09:32** :36

The sun set half an hour ago and the heat is finally dissipating. Connor sits out a log and watches as Markus sets up the fire, something mulish in his expression. There are no clouds in the sky so Connor feels relatively reassured they won’t be surprised by a rainstorm later, no matter what the forecast has been saying. They’ve been promising a storm since Monday.

“How’s it going?” he asks, just because he enjoys the glare Markus throws him.

“Go away and be useful,” Markus says and turns back.

“I tried,” Connor says. “North sent me to babysit you. Something about a fire hazard two years ago…?” he trails off.

Markus stiffens in his crouch and then swears under his breath. Connor chuckles. He has heard the whole story, multiple times, once even from Markus himself, halfway drowned in tequila. It’s still hilarious. Mostly because Markus never screws up and that is, to put it in North’s words, so fucking annoying and deserves to be punished.

“Oy!” somebody calls, and Connor turns around to see Josh coming out of their house, carrying more bottles than looks safe. “Some help?”

Connor darts up and goes to take some of the bottles off him. The glass clinks cheerfully.

“Um,” Connor says, unsure. “I thought North said it was just a small thing, some drinks on the beach.”

Josh glances at him, seems to make a decision and says, “Yup, just a small thing.”

They set the bottles down on a box Connor doesn’t remember standing there before. There are a lot of bottles.

“And what does North count as small?” Connor insists. “Because even on one of our wilder days we have not gone beyond three bottles between the four of us.”

“Just us,” Josh says vaguely, “some of the crew,” he waves a little with his hand. “Nothing too wild.”

Before Connor has a chance to question this, Josh slinks back to the house. Connor can hear him yell something at North but he can’t make out the words. 

He turns back to Markus, working on the fire. It seems endurance is key, because small flames are licking up the firewood. Connor cheers him on and Markus grins.

His grin makes an odd journey when Simon shows up. He’s carrying his sound kit, including several extra speakers and a bass. He smiles shyly at them when coming up to them and setting down the equipment. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t sure how much to bring. North said everything I had but that is more than I can carry. If we need it, I can go back and get it though, so, um, just let me know,” he says and scratches his head.

“Uuh, tha-, um,” says Markus eloquently and Connor watches for a few seconds just to see him suffer.

“Actually, we might need a few more speakers and at least one more bass,” North says from behind them and Connor jumps. He turns around to see her, arms full of grocery bags. “You should probably go with him to help him carry the stuff,” North goes on and gives Markus a in no way subtle look.

Simon looks at Markus, smiling hopefully, “Oh that would be so kind! Would you?”

Markus makes a strangled sound and Simon’s face falls a bit.

“He definitely would, now off you pop,” North says and puts the bags down before starting to dig through them.

“Thank you,” Simon says earnestly, and Connor gives Markus a light shove.

North one-ups him by throwing a package of disposable plastic cups at his head. Markus yells and goes after Simon, all the while rubbing his head and throwing a glare over his shoulder at North, who just laughs.

When they’re gone, Connor turns to North, hands on his hips.

“Just a small thing,” he says, eyebrow cocked.

North looks the picture of innocence, while placing jello shots on the box by the bottles.

“Yup,” she agrees.

Connor waits.

North places ice in a bowl and drops a bottle of a cheap knock-off Champagne in it. She hums a small tune. A vein pulses in Connor’s temple.

“Oh, right, I invited some of the other crew, too,” she finally says as if this didn’t hit her until now.

“Gaaargh!” Connor yells, throwing his hands in the air and stalks back to their house.

“It’ll be fun!” North calls after him.

He meets Josh in the door, who laughs wildly, carrying out a cooling box. 

More and more people arrive, bringing more alcohol. Someone brings a beach volleyball and a group puts up a temporary net made out of bushes, two skirts and thick branches collected from the forest. A tournament is set up with the skill of a large number of leaders with a good deal of motivation, good cheer and drinks. The rules are somewhat unclear and seem to vary greatly between matches, but no one seems to mind. Loud yells and shrieking laughter fill the air. 

Connor bravely avoids getting picked for either team by tending to the fire and handing out hotdogs.

“Wow, this place is wild,” says someone and Connor turns to them.

It’s Chloe.

“Hi, yeah, it was apparently more planned than I realized,” Connor admits with a grimace.

“Well, it seems to be going well,” she says kindly and accepts a hotdog before drowning it in condiments.

She looks at the volleyball game and winces in sympathy when someone dives head-first into the sand. Loud groans are heard coming from the victim and the sympathetic onlookers.

“Mm-hm,” Connor agrees, stirring the fire.

“Not a big fan of partying?” she asks.

“Sure, no, I like it. Just not when I have to get up at five thirty in the morning.”

Chloe laughs, “You sound way too responsible to be a dance teacher at a vacation resort.”

Connor hums non-committedly.

Then he can't stop himself.

"So you and the sergeant, then?" he blurts and instead of curious it comes off as hostile. 

He backtracks by trying an indulgent smile. Chloe furrows her brows.

"Hm?"

"You and Sergeant Anderson. You had his shirt the other day? I just thought…." He pokes a coal in the fire just a little too roughly and sparks fly his way. He hasn't thought to ask Hank about it. Chloe is quiet, as if Connor is speaking another language. Then the pieces fall into place and she raises her brows.

To his surprise, she bursts into laughter, holding her hand to cover her mouth. 

"Oh no, no-no-no," she giggles as if the very idea is hilarious. "No, he just gave me a ride home once and lent me his shirt because I was cold."

She laughs again. Connor starts to feel a little insulted on behalf of Hank, and himself, by the way she holds her stomach as if cramping from her giggles.

The volleyball tournament comes to an abrupt halt when the ball unexpectedly lands in the fire. Connor jumps back with a shriek as the sparks shoot up and almost burn them.

“Jesus Christ, are you okay?” shouts North as she comes running towards them.

She skids to a halt in front of them, spraying up sand. Connor, who's still gaping from the shock of the attacking fire, manages to inhale a fair amount. He spits to get the taste from his mouth. When he turns to Chloe, she thankfully seems ok, standing a few steps back, unharmed.

North notices her as well, going quiet and motionless.

“Oh, um- Chloe,” she says.

Connor stands up and picks up a stick to move the ball from the fire. It has turned into a melted piece of goo and the smell burns in his nostrils. Black smoke rises from the ruins of the ball.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to continue playing,” he says.

The verdict is met with disappointed groans.

“Shut up, someone could have got hurt!” North yells and walks the few steps remaining between her and Chloe. “Are you all right?” she says.

Chloe laughs a bit nervously, “I think Connor was in more danger than me.”

North turns to scan Connor. She raises her eyebrows.

“I’m absolutely unharmed,” he’s quick to reassure, holding up his arms in surrender.

“He’s fine,” North deems.

“Oh, um,” Chloe says unsure. “Okay. I’m okay, too, though.”

“That’s good,” North says. “Excellent. That’s excellent.” She nods to emphasize this. “D’you want something to drink?”

“Yeah, sure, thanks,” Chloe smiles.

“Good, yeah,” says North and stands still, making no move to go get her a drink.

They stand looking at each other for a few seconds. Connor tries to make the world open up and swallow him. It remains stubbornly solid.

“Should I go get one?” Chloe endeavors.

“What? No!” North says and wobbles a little in the sand. “I'll go get it for you.” She still doesn’t move. “You’re really pretty.”

Chloe giggles. Connor subtly backs away from them.

“Thanks. You’re really pretty, too,” Connor can hear Chloe say before he turns around and speed walks away from them.

He can’t find Markus so he walks by Josh to tell him he’ll be going. Josh is out on the pier and Connor maneuvers between the drinking people with some trepidation. It’s a floating pier and the amount of people on it makes it wobble ominously. Josh is, of course, standing at the far end. Connor trudges up to him and touches him on the shoulder.

“Hey, man,” says Josh when he sees him. Then he does a double take. “You’re on fire, man.”

“Nah, I’m gonna go home,” says Connor, too tired to try to figure out what being on fire means in this scenario. “I’m really tired and someone hit a beach volleyball into the fire and it smelled gross. So I’m gonna head inside.”

Josh is swaying back and forth, keeping a strong grip on a bottle of beer that is empty.

“No, man, Connor, buddy, you’re on fire.”

Connor sighs, “Yeah all right, I’m on fire. Have a good night, Josh. See you tomorrow.”

He turns to walk away when Josh grabs his wrist and swings him back with enough force to stumble. The momentum carries him to the side, and he experiences a sense of vertigo when he stumbles on the small barrier to the side. The water comes closer and he flails wildly. Josh’s grip on his wrist is more hindrance than help and then suddenly there’s a shove on his back and he goes tumbling into the water.

The transition from air to cold water is instantaneous. Ice cold water all around him. He pushes with his arms, trying to reach for the surface. When his head breaches into air again, he gasps, accidentally inhaling a mouthful of water. He coughs, paddling with his feet, keeping above surface. 

People on deck are screaming. Some are laughing. A hand is reached down to him from the pier, but it’s too far up for Connor to reach without risk dragging them down instead. He swims to the ladder a little way away. His fingers are numb as he grips the railing and he almost slips back into the water when his grip gives out. Scrambling for purchase, he grabs hold of the wood panels, cold and slimy but the wood underneath is rough enough for his hand to keep the hold.

When he takes the last steps up from the ladder, his pants almost drop, they’re heavy from the water. He holds them up, self-consciously checking he hasn’t dropped them on the way up. 

The people are flocking around him, but the noise is muffled by the lock in his ears. He recognizes Josh and Daniel asking if he’s okay. He nods. His flip-flops didn’t survive the trip through the water and he walks barefoot down the pier to shore. Someone is taking their shirt off and diving into the water, shrieking when they hit the water. 

“It’s fucking freezing!” they’re screaming.

Connor keeps walking, cold air hitting his skin and making goose bumps appear.

He passes by Markus who’s just returning with a new ball, holding it up in triumph.

“Hey, where’re you going?” he demands when he sees Connor moving towards the house.

“To sleep. I’m tired and it’s late.”

Markus stares at him with his deeply intense eyes, scanning him as if looking for something wrong. He gives Connor’s drenched appearance a critical look.

“All right, but you won’t get any sleep in there. The bedroom is, uh, occupied, and well-”

“Okay, Connor says, feeling his last vestiges of energy draining quickly. “I’ll go see if there’s a room available back at the hotel.”

Markus hums. He’s still looking at Connor.

“Did you take a swim?”

Connor stares silently at him. “Yes.”

“Oh, ok,” Markus seems more confused by this answer than if Connor had denied any such thing.

“Just keep an eye on North, ‘kay`?” Connor says. “She’s talking to Chloe and though it’s adorable, she’s very drunk and, uh, yeah. That’s about it.”

Markus nods, claps him on the back when he leaves.

FRIDAY **JULY 17TH** , 2020 - PM **11:59** :45

Connor isn’t really operating at full brain capacity when he walks back to the hotel. He snags his toes on the asphalt a couple of times and he’s grateful he’s so numb because he would start crying from seeing the skin get flayed if he wasn’t.

Halfway there he notices a figure sneaking around the houses, and he stops in his tracks.

“Hello?” he calls out and the figure stops, too. “Who's there?” he says, trying to sound more confident than he feels. “Come out!” The figure remains still a moment. Then slowly they shuffle out from the darkness and Connor breathes a sigh of relief.

“Hey, Alice, what are you doing out this late?” he asks, wondering how late it really is.

“I heard the music and wanted to come see what you all were doing,” she admits, hands clasped behind her back, making a circle in the grass with her toe.

“Oh,” Connor says and stops to listen to the sound of the music, or mostly bass at this point. 

It must be really loud to be heard from this far away. Thinking about it, his ears are thumping from the relief of being out of the deafening music. The last of the water dribbles out from his ears, making them feel warm and then cold as the normal sounds whoosh in again.

“Are you guys having a party?” Alice asks and Connor focuses back on her.

“No. Yeah, kinda. But the boring kind where everybody’s just acting stupid and shout a lot.”

Alice looks disappointed at this.

“Oh, okay.”

“Does your sister know you’re out here alone?” Connor asks, already suspecting the answer.

Alice twists in discomfort, the circle in the grass becoming more permanent when the force of her toes increase. She nods. Connor angles his face to the side. Alice sighs.

“No.”

“All right, I’ll go with you back to her,” he says and Alice slumps down in disappointment.

He steps up and takes her hand. Her skin is warm and her hand is tiny in his. She draws a breath at his touch.

“You’re ice cold!” she squeaks.

“Ah, yeah, sorry about that,” he says, taking his hand back and rubbing it against the other to warm it up. He offers it back. “There, better?”

She looks suspicious but takes his hand.

“Why are you all wet?”

“I took a swim,” he says, surreptitiously wringing some water out of his t-shirt with his free hand.

“You’ll stretch the fabric if you do that,” Alice informs him disapprovingly. “And you shouldn’t swim when it’s so cold out. You’ll catch your death.” 

Connor smiles weakly, “I guess you’re right.”

They walk in silence until they reach Kara’s room. Connor looks down on Alice, whose lower lip wobbles slightly. Then she nods, a determined expression settling on her face, and Connor knocks on the door, three quick raps.

The door is almost immediately wrenched open and Kara’s frantic face almost impacts with Connor’s before he reels back.

“Kara-” he begins but Kara’s eyes have already sought out Alice and she yells her name and wraps her up in a warm embrace.

“Alice, Alice,” Kara murmurs in her hair. “I was so worried. I went in to check on you and you weren’t there.”

Alice braves the hug, before closing her arms around Kara, too, “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

Luther shows up behind them and he gives Connor a grateful smile. Connor tries to smile back, but his face feels frozen solid. He nods instead.

Kara stands up then and looks at him with tears in her eyes.

“Thank you,” she says and Connor nods again.

“No problem, she was just a little way down the road,” he says pointing with his thumb behind him. “Saw her on my way back.”

“Thank you,” she says again.

Alice pipes in with her own thank-yous and sorry’s and Connor is starting to feel uncomfortable.

“I’ll leave you guys to enjoy your night,” he says and the little family smiles in gratitude.

They close the door and Connor walks away. A few steps later he realizes he still can’t go back home to sleep. His bed is currently the social hotspot of a party he doesn’t feel like participating in. 

He continues on to his original goal, the hotel, passing by the parking lot. A shuffling noise has him scan the dark space. He contemplates calling out again, but his voice won’t cooperate. He swallows thickly, mouth dry.

There shouldn’t be anyone out there. The hotel’s reception closes at ten pm and there’s a gate at the end of the road that closes at midnight. No car can enter or leave without a key to beam. _Unless they cut across the grass_ , a small voice insists.

He stands still, listening, staring out into the darkness. His hands are shaking.

Then a dark shape makes itself visible in what was nothing before. Tall and broad. Connor takes an involuntary step back. The shape, a man, walks up to him and briefly Connor considers just turning around and running. He can’t feel his feet, however and his body isn’t listening to his instruction.

“Hey,” the man says, and Connor _knows_ that voice.

Connor peers up at the face. His dark hair hanging in stripes down to the side, the smell of sweat reaching Connor from paces away.

It’s Todd.

“Hello, Todd,” he says and marvels at the calm in his voice.

Todd squints at him, apparently unprepared for being recognized. His eyes feel like slime as they travel up Connor’s body. Then he sneers. 

“Colin,” he says.

“Connor,” Connor corrects, because he’s an idiot.

“Yeah,” Todd agrees. “You’re here, too, huh? Fucking coincidence.”

Connor wrinkles his nose when Todd takes a step forward, his breath landing heavily in Connor’s face.

“I work at the hotel,” he says and why can’t his mouth shut up. “I don't think you're supposed to be here.”

Todd grunts at this, in apparent disagreement.

“My daughters are hiding somewhere here, so yeah, I think I have a right to be here.”

"Oh, they're here?" Connor squeaks, then corrects himself. "Without you?"

"Don't be fucking smart with me, I know you're a part of this, she's talked to you!" Todd snarls. 

Connor doesn’t have anything to say to that. He tries to back up another step but suddenly one of Todd’s enormous bear-like hands clamp down on his shoulder in an iron-grip. Connor’s knees almost buckle under the weight.

" I might forgive your interfering with my family if you could tell me where they are,” Todd says evenly and his face is right up in Connor’s now.

Despite this, Connor breathes a sigh of relief. Todd doesn’t know where they are.

“They left,” he improvises and then keens when Todd’s grip on his shoulder tightens.

“I may look stupid,” Todd begins, and yes, he does, but he also looks dangerous. “But even I know that’s not true.”

He nods at a car in the parking lot. Connor doesn’t know if it’s Kara’s, he has never seen it, but he can guess Todd has. Connor swallows.

“I don’t know where they are,” he says instead and Todd grunts in irritation.

His grip tightens again and Connor thinks it might dislocate any second. His entire side is collapsing in on itself, trying to minimize the pain. Todd’s other hand comes up to tip Connor’s face up. For a crazy second, Connor thinks he’s going to lean in and kiss him and his stomach convulses in protest. But Todd just leans in until he’s a hair’s breadth away from Connor’s ear and whispers, with clearer words than he has managed all night, “I’ll find them." His breath is on Connor's skin, making goosebumps riss. "And if I see your fucking face around them again, I’ll tear you fucking arms out.”

He punctuates his words with a squeeze to his shoulder that forces out a whimper between Connor's clenched teeth. His entire body shudders when Todd lets him go. 

Connor doesn’t see where he goes. He can’t feel his body falling but when he lands on his knees, he uses his unhurt arm to support his weight on the ground, and then his elbow when he can't stay up. He’s breathing so quickly the air isn’t reaching his lungs and suddenly more water is pouring out of his mouth. It’s sour but clear, so mostly lake water that he hasn’t managed to sick up from when he swallowed water back in the lake. His body hunches in on itself around his convulsions. Tears are running down his face and he can feel snot mixing into the mess. He has a hard time breathing through his swollen throat and the horrible smell. It takes a moment to realize the hulking noises are coming from him. He makes a concentrated effort to stop it.

When it finally stops, he stays still, breathing slowly for a long while. His mouth tastes disgusting and the pool building by his hands smells worse. He crawls over to the lawn by the side of the parking lot, wiping his hands on the cool grass. He feels both hot and cold at the same time.

When he’s sure his legs will carry him, Connor stands up. 

What is he going to do now? It's only a matter of time before Todd finds them. The hotel is filled with the police, but Kara insisted on keeping them out of it. Connor is not convinced they won't just side with Todd and disregard the danger he puts Alice in. They don't know them and might not believe them. But Connor can do something.

***

SATURDAY **JULY 18TH** , 2020 - AM **01:03** :19

Gavin comes bustling through the door well past midnight when Hank has just fallen asleep. The grouchy young man makes a racket in the hallway and Hank swears he’s doing it on purpose. 

He’s just not going to get any sleep tonight, he thinks and opts to get out of bed, while Gavin starts jiggling out of his clothing. It’s awkward enough without him pretending to be asleep while his coworker is undressing.

“Shit, Hank. You missed a helluva night…” Gavin slurs and then crashes face first on the covers of the bed. “Prob’ly good you weren’t there. You’d dry up the place in a minute. None for us normal human beings…” 

The accusations are standard Reed, and Hank finds it difficult to take them seriously. Still, he thinks of how the evening could have ended, had he been in one of his moods. It pisses him off, more than Gavin’s stupid remarks.

“Yeah yeah, go to sleep, asshole,” he says and stumbles out into the kitchen. 

He hears Gavin mumble, “Heh, ‘s funny cuz you’re a drrrrrunk.”

Hank sighs.

He nods off in the kitchen couch again, this time an old detective novel in his hands. A sharp knock on the front door jolts him from sleep, a stab of pain shooting through his neck. This couch does nothing for his aching back. His limbs are not working properly at first as he rolls off the couch and slowly goes to open the door. Gavin is still up; he hears him on his phone watching a video of some guy with a very nasal voice. 

Hank lets the door open just a little, but all but throws it open when he sees his favorite pair of eyes peeking through. 

“Connor,” Hank mumbles and worry sparks through him at the sight before him. 

Warm brown eyes, wide and frozen like a deer in headlights. Hank recognizes panic when he sees it. 

Connor is soaked from head to toe, his hair dripping water on his shoulders. Hank glances outside but there’s no rain. There is no question that Connor is in shock. Something has obviously happened, but Hank becomes aware of Gavin’s presence only a short hallway away. He can see Connor shivering in his clothes. 

"Give me two minutes, okay?" Hank mumbles softly, desperate to drag him into the room and warm him up in his arms. Connor seems to catch his drift when they both hear Gavin’s snorts of laughter in the bedroom, because his face relaxes, and he nods before turning.

“I’ll just... take a tour ‘round the house.” 

Hank’s insides twist as Connor’ turns around and walks away on stiff knees, his shirt soaked through enough for Hank to see his back muscles through the white fabric.

"Gavin!" he barks in the direction of the bed. 

"Still up, old man?"

"I'll give you a hundred bucks if you leave for the night right now."

Gavin is quiet for a few seconds. Then he swears loudly. "And where the fuck am I gonna go, asshole?"

"Hell, I don't know, crash at Tina's or something."

Gavin stumbles out of the bedroom, grabs his jacket from the floor, sticks his feet into a pair of sneakers that don’t look like they should hold together anymore, and crashes through the front door, muttering profanities under his breath.

"Fuckin' asshole," is what Hank catches before he slams the door. 

Hank utilizes the extra minute alone by dumping the pizza boxes into the trash can, which barely can fit one carton inside. He fluffs the pillows on the kitchen couch and folds the scratchy blanket, hoping it will make the cabin look less like the mess it is.

Like clockwork, Connor is back a minute later, this time knocking on the door twice before gently opening. He looks like a damn angel.

"I need help," Connor says the moment he steps into the room, arms hugging his sides. Hank leads him to the couch, moving the book and the bedcover before setting him down. He darts into the bedroom to grab his towel and a dry shirt. He can't listen to whatever Connor has to say if the kid's gonna be shivering through the cold.

When Connor peels his shirt off from where it sticks to his skin, Hank nearly blows a fuse and has to turn away from the sight. He's only human after all. A human garbage man who's pining after the most beautiful man in the world.

Hank keeps his back turned to preserve Connor’s modesty as he undresses. Back still turned to him, he reaches for Connor's wet shirt and hangs it over the back of a chair. A little late, he realizes he should offer him some dry clothes and slinks off to the dresser and picks out a pair of pants and a hoodie for good measure.

“Thanks,” Connor says when Hank puts the clothes down on the table, still awkwardly turned away. There's a moment of silence, then: "Do you just hand this hoodie out to everyone you meet?"

Hank turns around, incredulous.

"What?"

Connor looks like he regrets saying anything, lips tight. Hank considers him but finally let's it go.

Dry clothes on, Connor absentmindedly dries his hair with the towel. His eyes look empty.

"What's going on?" Hank eventually asks. 

He's pondering whether he should locate a kettle in the kitchen, maybe if there's some old tea stashed in the cupboards, when Connor finally speaks again.

"I have to know that, that you will try to help," he starts, locking eyes with him. "I came here because I don't know what to do, and…" 

Connor's voice hitches and he coughs lightly. Hank tries to understand what he means. He leans forward, elbows on his thighs, close enough that his hands almost touch Connor's knees.

"Are you in trouble?" he asks. 

The corner of Connor's lips twitches, but he faintly shakes his head. Hank breathes out through his nose.

"My friend is. She doesn't want involvement with the police, though.”

That is never a sentence a cop wants to hear. Hank feels his pulse rising ever so slightly. 

“So why’d you come here, Connor?” 

“Because…” Connor bites his lip, and fuck, now Hank wants to bite it, too. “Because I’m scared, and because… I trust you. At least, I think I do.”

“Thanks,” Hank answers drily, which causes Connor to groan.

“I mean, you're kind and you seem like you know what you’re doing..." his voice trails off.

Hank is dying to know what else but going by Connor’s hands coming up to his mouth, still covered in the blanket, he doesn’t actually want to finish his own sentence.

Sumo, who has finally caught on to the fact that something is going on, walks into the sitting area, sniffs Hank’s hand and then, with a great huff, jumps onto the couch and lies down over Connor’s legs. It would be a misnomer to say he lays in Connor’s lap because the dog is enormous, almost as tall as Connor when stretched out. More accurate, Sumo takes up the couch and Connor happens to be underneath.

“Off, down,” Hank says, snapping his fingers but Connor’s hands come up and digs into Sumo’s fur.

“No, it’s all right,” Connor says and Hank notices some of the shivering finally gives away.

“Okay,” he says and pats Sumo’s back to calm him down after lifting his head to see if the command to get off was serious. “‘S okay. Lay down”

For a while, Connor does nothing except dig his fingers through Sumo’s thick fur, pulling up small stripes, sorting it out, picking out bits and pieces of dirt and moss that have got stuck. Hank tries to not feel like a bad doggy dad for not combing out the fur, but Connor seems content, pretty much unconscious of what he’s doing.

Hank can feel nerves prickling at his neck. Connor came here in a panic. Although he’s calming down, the threat is probably not gone, whatever it is. And to not want to involve cops, jeez. He wonders what Connor got himself involved in.

He stands up, vaguely thinking of making that pot of tea, that’s what you do right, but Connor tenses up.

“Please stay,” Connor whispers.

Hank argues internally, between explaining and just grabbing Connor up in a hug and not letting go. He compromises by sinking back into his seat.

“Yeah, ‘course.”

Connor keeps stroking Sumo’s fur, but his gaze is lowered like he’s avoiding Hank’s eyes and there’s a small blush in his cheeks now. Hank’s relieved some color is returning to his skin but it might as well be a fever so Hank is careful taking his victories.

“Connor,” he says, encouragingly, coaching. “Why’re you here?”

“I-” Connor begins and then to Hank’s horror, tears start running down his face. “Shit,” he says and wipes them away. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cry. Really!” he says and leans his head back as if to stop the flow.

“Jesus, Connor, it’s fine. Cry it out,” Hank says, because at least this part he knows how to do. It’s not easy, but it’s simple. He grabs a tissue and hands it to Connor.

“I’m not actually a crybaby,” Connor assures him and Hank wants to hit whoever told Connor he was. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“It’s fine. Our bodies need to let off some steam sometimes.”

Connor chokes out a chuckle and Hank puts a hand on his shoulder. His skin is still cold, so he rubs his arm instead. He’s almost drowning in Hank’s hoodie and Hank tells the voice that’s saying it’s really fucking cute to shut the fuck up. Not the time.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Connor says, and Hank is glad to hear he sounds a bit more sedate now.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” he asks and Connor hesitates. “Come on, Connor. Let me know so I can go beat them up,” Hank jokes but it falls rather flat as Connor doesn’t laugh. “Jesus, shit,” Hank breathes and his hand squeezes without meaning to and Connor winces. “Sorry, shit. Sorry,” Hank murmurs and goes back to stroking. “Did someone…” Hank hesitates, wishing Connor would jump in, tell him he was wrong, anything to keep him from having to finish that sentence.

“My friend,” Connor says and Hank shuts up to listen. “She lives in the same building as me and uh-” Connor pauses, apparently unsure how to continue.

“Yeah, you neighbors?” Hank helps.

“I... yeah. She has a little sister. She used to live with their dad but they came and visited sometimes. She’s cute as a button and Kara is the kindest person I’ve ever met. I didn’t know they would come here to vacation; she never spoke about it although I told her I work here over summer season.”

Hank hums in acknowledgement, “Okay.”

Connor is still digging through Sumo’s thick fur, like a safety blanket. Distantly he thinks it’s good he doesn’t have a cat.

“She, uh, she was always happy when Alice, her little sister,” Connor explains when Hank hums in question. “She was always so happy to see her but it was weird, how she talked about her dad.”

“What do you mean?” Hank asks.

“I don’t know. Just something in the way she spoke about him,” Connor says. A wrinkle has appeared between his brows and Hank notices the way his shoulders tense back up. “I met him only once, outside the building,” Connor continues. “He was just standing outside, looking up at her window. You can’t even see anything, she keeps the curtains closed but he just stood there, staring at the window.” A shiver runs down Hank’s back. “I was just coming home when I noticed him, and uh, I didn’t recognize him and we’re not allowed to let people we don't know inside. So I hung back a bit, waiting to see if someone was gonna let him in, or if he was waiting for someone. But he didn’t move.

“When I walked up to him to ask if he needed help, he-” Connor cuts off and Hank sees his finger tremble.

Hank murmurs, “You’re safe here.”

“It’s nothing,” Connor says. “I just got this really weird feeling about him. He turned to me and said, ‘I don’t need help’ or something. He looked up at the window again and when I looked up, too, I saw the curtains move. Then he just turned to go and it freaked me out.”

“Jesus,” Hank says. “Of course. Sounds like a fucking creep.”

“When I spoke to Kara about it she didn’t really want to tell me what was going on, just that I should stay away from him.”

“Sounds like sound advice.”

“Yeah, but then I saw him again when he was dropping off Alice. He saw me looking, and it sounds so stupid, but he gave me this look. I don’t know how to describe it but it felt really-”

“Creepy.”

“Yeah,” says Connor, relieved. “Creepy. I asked Kara about it again. She said it was her dad, and sure, everyone's allowed to have their own screwed up family but,” Connor shakes his head and doesn’t finish the sentence.

“And now?” Hank asks, eventually, when the silence has stretched between them again.

“I saw him outside,” Connor whispers and Hank stiffens.

He can’t say he’s surprised but to hear it confirmed sends chills through him. Connor is staring holes through the fur he’s gripping. Sumo whines. When Hank places a hand on his fingers, Connor breathes in quickly and lightens his hold.

“He was looking for Kara and Alice,” Connor says, quickly enough to stumble over the words. “I didn’t tell him.”

“Shit,” Hank says.

He can imagine this dad-figure did more than ask and Connor’s too polite to say.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

Connor bites his lip, “Not really. He gripped my arm and said some things, but I’m not hurt.”

At least that’s something, Hanks thinks, mind racing a mile a minute.

“And Kara? She’s here, at the resort? With Alice?”

Connor nods, “Yeah, she and her boyfriend are here with Alice.”

“Do you know where? Can you get in contact with them?”

Connor hesitates and Hank wants to take his shoulders and shake him. He also wants to take him in his arms and never let go. He doesn’t want Connor involved in this and it’s killing him that he is. Connor is looking up at him with his enormous brown eyes, pleading for relief that won’t come.

“She didn’t want the police involved.”

“Yeah, well, that ship sailed when you knocked on my door, kid,” Hank says, brusquer than he intended.

He tries to ignore the flinch Connor makes.

“Uh, yeah, okay,” he says, breathing deeply “Do you have a phone? I have their number.”

"Connor?" Kara sounds on edge, but at least she's answering. Connor paces in the tiny room, highly aware that Hank is watching him

"Kara, I'm with Sergeant Anderson. He's promised to help y-"

"Connor, I told you we can't have the police involved!" Guilt washes over him. He stammers an apology. Kara continues, "I could go to jail for this, Alice is gonna--"

Connor tries to keep calm but finds it impossible.

Hank stands up and makes a motion for Connor to reach over the phone to him. Connor stutters.

"Kara, I'm-I'm gonna give the phone to the sergeant now." 

Before he can hear her protests, he lamely drops the phone from his ear, feeling number and number as Hank takes over. His voice is firm, deep. Authoritative, Connor thinks vaguely.

"Ms. Williams? This is Sergeant Anderson. I'm gonna put you on speaker." 

He presses the icon and holds the phone between them. 

"Where are you at this moment? Are you in a public space?"

Kara hesitates, then, "We're in our room, although Luther just stepped out to get some ice." 

Hank nods.

"Okay. Will you give me the address and number? I'm gonna send over someone to keep an eye out. You stay right where you are, don't let anyone in unless you know for certain it's me or Connor, all right? And close the curtains."

"... Yes," Kara says. 

Hank's tone changes.

"Is the little girl- is Alice with you? She okay?" 

His voice is so soft now. Connor's heart stutters at the concerned look in his face. He can hear a sob from the other end of the line.

"Yes, she's okay." 

"Good. Listen Kara, you did the right thing getting your sister out of there. All right?" A shaky exhale. He can hear her crying now. "I'm gonna help you, okay? We'll send my phone number. Please call if anything happens."

Connor is relieved to find that his trust in Hank wasn't misplaced.

***

SATURDAY **JULY 18TH** , 2020 - AM **02:18** :49

Todd is tired, high on a nasty new drug and really fucking pissed off. He still has a bump on his head from where Kara hit him last week. That damn kid has been more trouble than she's worth, he thinks.

Alice, on the other hand, is kind, sweet. Quiet. Less of a nuisance than her older sister.

He shouldn't be surprised that Kara decided to kidnap her sister, pretending they're the family that he could never be for them. Always taking the fucking high horse.

Everything is always Todd's fucking fault.

Todd can see the door being opened, but not hear it, being too far away. A tall, black guy steps out and first Todd feels panic claw in his chest. Did he get the room wrong? But no, he’s sure he saw Kara. Then he takes a closer look and recognizes him. It’s the boyfriend. He’s fucking huge and Todd can feel his hands twitch at his sides. He follows the guy with his eyes until he disappears into the darkness. 

Todd doesn’t bother to wonder what he’s off to do. He just steps out from his hiding spot and marches, in a somewhat straight line, up to the door. It's with barely contained rage that he knocks on the door to their apartment. He hears Alice's voice inside.

He throws his fist to the door.

"Kara!" he bellows. "Open the fucking door right now or I'll-"

The door is quickly opened and Kara is standing in front of him. His stupid, reckless daughter. He would feel a sort of fondness for her stubbornness if it wasn't for the fact that she ruined a perfectly good week for him, forced him out to this godforsaken place, right when he was about to do a major deal at home. It could have afforded him a new house for him and Alice. Not that Kara would care.

"Please stop screaming,” Kara says in a low voice, as if Todd is the unreasonable one. She steps to the side and says, “Come inside".

He walks inside the apartment, shuts the door. It shuts with a final click and the room is perfectly silent for a moment. 

"What the hell is your problem?" Todd swears and relishes in Kara's flinching. "I've spent years, fucking years, working my ass off so you could have a nice life. Then you took off, just like your useless fucking mother. And it's been just me and Alice, takin’ care of each-other. And now what?” Todd pauses, sways in place. “You decided that your father has it too good, hm?" He remembers the boyfriend. "Is it your bodyguard's idea? He thought you should kidnap a fucking child and play house?" 

His throat becomes hoarse. He's screaming. Alice is cowering behind Kara, looking scared. How dare she.

"Todd, please, you're scaring her," Kara says, one hand resting on Alice's head.

" _You're scaring her,_ " he mocks, tries to get behind her to grab Alice. 

They're getting out of here before he does something stupid. They’re moving slowly further inside the room until Kara’s back is pressed against a wall.

"You promised!" Kara suddenly shrieks, and it nearly throws Todd off his loop. "You promised, _never again_! I trusted you!"

"Shut up!” He marks his words with a punch- It doesn’t go exactly where he plans to and lands in the wall behind her face. He can’t feel any pain from the impact. “Stop putting all the blame on me! I'm the only parent that stayed with you! This is how you thank me?" He breathes out, thinking of how he should proceed. "I will take Alice back home now, away from this circus…"

"No!" Kara yells, shuffling Alice closer to herself. 

"It's over, Kara," Todd warns, reaches once again over to Alice. 

She doesn't reach for his hand. She stares at him, fearful.

"Daddy, please. I want to stay with Kara. Please!"

It's as if an arrow is stuck in his chest. It's failure, a fucking failure. He failed being a good parent - again. 

"Todd," Kara tries again. 

Todd drops his hand from Alice. It's all Kara's fault.

“What the fuck have you been telling her?”

Kara looks desperate, “Nothing!”

"You don’t get to come in and kidnap my daughter, pretending like you’re some fucking hero. I took care of this family- worked my ass off, just so you can sweep in and take my fucking child away from me!”

He’s not sure his words are making sense anymore, just knows the anger is pulsing in his head like a steam boiler. He can’t see straight. Her face is just a vague outline.

“You don’t get to take my fucking family, you-”

He can’t finish the sentence and opts to grab Kara by the throat, squeezing just enough so she will feel it. Finally, she shuts up. 

Alice is crying behind her, pleading with him to stop but Todd feels his blood singing, feels the pulse beating erratic beneath Kara's skin.

"Daddy, no, don't hurt her!" Alice wails, desperately clinging to his arm. Todd squeezes tighter, feels Kara's panic as she scratches against his hands in a futile attempt to escape. "I'll go with you! Please, stop and I will go home!" 

"Alice, no--" Kara begs, words choked out through a crushed windpipe.

Todd doesn't wait for further discussion, drops her to the ground roughly and grabs Alice's hand, yanking her to the door.

Kara scrambles up onto her knees, garbled noises coming from her ruined throat. Todd turns around. She’s getting up and Todd is just fucking sick of seeing her, of listening to her whining. 

He shoves Alice to the floor, “Stay,” and walks over to Kara.

She’s holding a hand around her throat, still struggling to get up on unsteady legs. When she looks up and sees Todd approaching, her arms come up in front of her, defensive. Useless.

Todd grabs her wrist in one hand, her hair in the other, and shoves her forcefully into the wall.

Alice screams behind him and Todd almost misses the quiet whine coming from Kara’s lips.

“Shut up!” he yells at Alice.

Kara is still awake, cradling her head with her free hand. She’s looking around, searchingly. Todd gets a sturdier grip on her head; Kara doesn’t appear to notice. He bashes her head into the wall, once, twice and then lets her limp body down on the floor.

Satisfied she won’t get up again, he turns back to Alice. He hoists her around her waist, picking her up. She yells out in fear and he puts his other hand over her mouth. The sound is only a little muffled so he adjusts his grip until he can squeeze her throat at the same time. The wail downs down.

She is still such a light thing and he has no trouble carrying her away to the parking lot. It feels right, to have her in his arms again. Just as soon as they get home, she’ll forget her defiance and turn into his sweet little girl again.

He runs into a little trouble when he gets to the car. Alice is still struggling in his arms, so he squeezes her to his side while he digs out his car keys. She makes an attempt to slither out of his grip when he slides the key into the lock, so he rams her into the side of the car. She calms down after that.

“See, isn’t that easier?” he mumbles as he steps back to the boot and opens it up.

He puts her down gently in the boot. Her eyes are a little unfocused. He strokes back the hair from her face soothingly.

When he slides into the driver’s seat, he can feel the sense of victory growing like a balloon in his chest. A wide smile stretches across his face and he lets out a little huff of laughter.

“We’re going home, sweetie,” he says into the car although Alice can’t hear him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank: *exists*  
> Connor: Fuck this shit I'm out, don't mind me Imma just grab mah things and leave
> 
> \---
> 
> Connor: IS THIS YOUR W**RE-SHIRT!?
> 
> \---
> 
> Come yell at us on Tumblr:  
> https://highlyexplosivecontent.tumblr.com/  
> https://raziella.tumblr.com/
> 
> If you'd like to see what the Jericho lake house looks like, and if you have Sims 4, we have uploaded our build of the house/lot, just go to the gallery and search #wethotmichigansummer


	6. Saturday morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We wrote this chapter weeks before the demonstrations and the followed extreme police brutality in the US right now.  
> However, this is a chapter that paints Hank, and the DPD to some extent, in a positive light, which really doesn’t represent reality or our views on the matter. We don’t want this to trigger anyone and for those of you who wish to skip it entirely, there’s a chapter summary at the end in the notes. If you wish to read the last scene (which is crime free) , we’ve bolded the text where it’s okay to start reading again. The following chapters are less about police work and more about the pining that we all come here for.
> 
> We'd also like to preamble this by saying we don't know shit about American police work. This is the product of (not so extensive) google searching. Don't @ us. 
> 
> The attentative reader will notice we've changed (and changed back) some of the time stamps. We're sorry about the mix-up.

SATURDAY **JULY 18TH** , 2020 - AM **02:14** :32

“I’ve informed my boss, he’s sending over someone to keep watch,” Hank explains once he hangs up with Jeffrey. His phone chimes and he looks at the name on the screen. “Ms. Williams just sent me the car plate number, I’ll just....” 

Connor leans forward as Hank writes, and Hank is too consumed by the sudden proximity to notice that Connor is memorizing the car plate number. He also doesn’t notice that Connor starts texting someone. Instead, Hank leans back, quick to find some distance between them, and swings his arms back and forward, looking around.

“You want something? Uhh, there’s some coffee. Normal; not that disgusting instant powder. Or maybe there’s tea--” he mutters, standing to go through the cabinets that he knows are empty.

“It’s okay,” Connor interrupts him. 

He sounds less shaken up. When Hank gives up his search for tea or anything that could calm his own nerves, he leans against the orange painted kitchen bench. He should say something. That he’ll protect Connor. That he’s really pretty and that Hank only wants to keep him safe and warm in his arms.

“Do you want me to give you a lift home? Or just company on your way back?” 

Connor looks up from petting Sumo. 

“Won’t that complicate things if your boss calls you to come in?” he counters. “If you’re away all alone with me.” 

That is true, Hank thinks. Knowing that Connor is sitting here with him is very distracting, however, and he is afraid he might not even hear his phone ring as long as Connor looks at him like that.

“Well, I don’t think you should walk outside on your own, not while that Todd guy is out there,” he gruffs.

“Then I’ll stay. Until it’s safe,” Connor decides. Hank rubs his face, equal measure of frustration and elevation to be stuck inside with the man who’s been in his fantasies for days. “Try to get some sleep,” he offers, motions for the bedroom. “You can take the bed. I’ll be up until we know the situation.”

“No, I want to know if Kara is in trouble,” Connor says, determined, but he stifles a yawn. “I’ll stay up.”

“You’re not. C’mon kid, I’ll wake you up if I have some news, but you’re lookin’ exhausted. Sumo would love to join you,” he adds as an extra incentive. 

“Not a kid,” Connor insists, but lets himself be guided to the bedroom.

Sumo follows and snuggled together on the bed they look cute as fuck when he checks in on them a little while later. Connor has an arm wrapped around Sumo and the big dog is taking up half the bed, snout buried in Connor’s chest. Hank closes the door around them again.

***

SATURDAY **JULY 18TH** , 2020 - AM **02:49** :15

The phone rings and Hank has been calling his coworkers for about twenty minutes, so lost in the moment that he almost doesn’t react to the caller ID on the screen. But the name gets his adrenaline pumping, for sure.

“Ms. Williams?” he answers, immediately reaching for pen and paper. It takes a few seconds to distinguish the words from the scraping noise on the other end. When he recognizes that it’s Kara William’s voice making those noises he also sends out a text to Gavin to make sure he and Chris are on site by now. 

_“He… He…_ ” Kara murmurs. “ _Alice._ ” Then he hears her sobs, not soft and quiet, but gut wrenching, sounds twisted by what must be crushed windpipe.

Hank listens intently at Kara’s words, writes down everything she chokes out, texts Jeffrey and tells Kara to stay awake until the police are there. Makes her call the boyfriend to come back. Then he immediately calls an ambulance.

When he hangs up, he hears soft footsteps behind him. Connor stands in the narrow hallway, dark circles under his eyes, hair slightly askew. Hank’s shirt reaches Connor's mid-thigh. The damn sleeves hang well over his hands. 

“Who was it?” Connor asks, voice wobbly. For a moment, Hank is torn. 

“He has the girl.”

“Hank...” Connor looks honest to god terrified.

“We’re going to catch him, Con. But I have to leave now.”

“Wait, Hank, before you go,” Connor says in a rush as Hank is just reaching the door. Hank stops and turns around, in a hurry but still stopping to listen. “I think he’ll be on foot,” Connor says.

Hank stops at this, realizing this will be important. “And why would you say that?” he prompts.

Connor hesitates and Hank gets a sinking feeling.

“Um, see their car might be damaged, or something.”

“Or something,” Hank mutters under his breath. Louder, he says, “Obviously I didn’t hear any of that,” he gives Connor a very hard look and Connor squirms, “but I’ll let the others know they’ll probably be looking for a different car than the one registered to Todd Williams.”

Connor deflates and Hank sighs. Oh, he’s sure Connor had good intentions, but he can feel his blood pressure rise realizing they’ll be one step behind as Todd obviously wouldn’t choose to walk but just hijack a different car. Connor and his misguided friends have done nothing but make sure the police don’t know what car to look for.

“Sorry,” Connor mumbles miserably.

“It’s fine,” Hank says, voice tense. “Call me if you think of anything else.” 

He motions for Connor to hand him his phone so he can register his number in it. Connor hands it over quickly.

When he gets it back, Hank’s number is registered under “Sergeant Hank Anderson, Detroit Police”. A small smile twitches on Connor’s lips.

“Take care,” Hank says, before stepping out and disappearing.

“You, too,” Connor says to the empty air.

***

SATURDAY **JULY 18TH** , 2020 - AM **02:54** :13

“ _Are you on site_?” Jeffrey asks over the static of the walkie talkie, just as Hank and Gavin turn down the road through the woods. 

This is the only route away from the hotel that he could possibly have taken. Chris and Tina caught up with Williams two minutes ago, which caused him to swerve down the road that Hank and Gavin are waiting at.

“Affirmative,” Hank answers. 

Gavin sighs, dunks his forehead against the car window. He might still be a bit drunk. 

“Just what we fucking needed out of this trip,” he groans. “A junkie and his kidnapped daughter.”

“Watch it,” Hank growls. 

“Feeling too close for comfort, old man?” Gavin counters, and a mean glint in his eye. 

Hank is too wary to be bothered by Gavin’s posturing. Although, he can understand if he’s feeling salty, given Hank threw him out on his ass and then hauled him back with little to no explanation. Eh, he’ll live. 

“Keep your eyes on the road, Gavin,” he says, and his tone should be recognized for what it is: a warning saying, _Stop busting my fucking balls._

They get an update from Chris, who just saw Todd Williams turn down the road towards town. Hank makes a left turn, puts in the brakes. They have him cornered.

“He should be coming down this path soon. Get ready.”

Todd Williams is coming their way, in an old, rusty vehicle. It screeches uncomfortably when he brakes in front of Hank’s car. Hank has strategically parked it so that it’s just impossible to pass. Williams gets out of the vehicle. Calmly, Hank gets out, too, keeping a neutral expression on his face as he approaches.

When Gavin decides to turn on the headlights, Williams stops, a hand shielding his eyes from the light. He’s confused enough that Hank and Gavin might be able to talk some sense into him.

“You all right there, sir?” Hank calls, coming up to him, hands casually in his jacket pockets.

He presents a confident picture. Todd shifts to the side, looking nervous. 

“Just… going home with my daughter,” he answers, sounding just too casual, enough to cause suspicion on any normal day.

“In the middle of the night?” 

“Is that against the law?” Todd says, eyes darting to the side. 

Alice gets out of the car, unfortunately. Hank hoped that he wouldn’t have to expose Alice to this. He looks at her. She is shaking, pressing against Williams’ car as she walks to her father, reaching out her hand. Poor girl.

“We’ve heard of a break-in in one of the apartments at the hotel back there. The suspect dragged a girl into a stolen car, with one of the witnesses receiving serious head trauma.”

He can see Alice’s lips form the word “no”. Todd looks like he might make a run for it. Then,

“I- uh, I’m sorry to hear about that. Can you please move your car?”

“Uh-huh,” Hank hums, upper lip curling. He looks at Alice. “Are you okay, little girl?” he asks and makes sure his voice is as calm, as safe, as he can manage. He wonders if Williams will let go of his daughter and make a run for it. 

“Answer him, Alice,” Williams scolds, laughing at it like he’s hysterical. “She’s a bit of a spoiled brat sometimes, but she’s a good kid,” he tries. 

Hank purses his lips, hopes to find a way to separate them in case Williams becomes violent.

“It’s all right, kid,” he says. “Just gonna ask your dad some questions.” 

She cowers behind her father. 

“What kind of questions?” Williams demands, eye twitching and it’s just odd enough that Hank dares to ask,

“Are you under the influence, sir?”

“How fucking dare you,” Williams growls. “Alice, come on, we’re leaving.”

Hank pulls out his badge and sees Williams’ eyes widen in alarm. “Sergeant Anderson, Detroit Police. I’m going to ask you to step away from the vehicle and keep your hands where I can see them.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Hank repeats. “Because we are looking for a man of precisely your description. Just routine.”

Hank knows that Chris and Tina are approaching from the other direction, just needs to give them time to catch up before they make the arrest. Williams breathes heavily, and something in his eyes looks like he’s about to snap.

“You don’t have fucking authority to--”

Gavin gets out of the vehicle, his gun raised against Williams.

“Calm down, motherfucker! Hands behind your head _right now!_ ” he yells, making sure to click his safety off and Hank gives him a look that says, _For FUCK’S SAKE, Gavin!_

It’s apparently the wrong thing to say, because Williams grabs Alice and makes a run for it through the trees. 

Alice is jostled in his grip, and Hank thinks he can see tears in her eyes.

“Fucking hell.”

Hank immediately sprints down the ditch and through the woods, not waiting for Gavin to get a move on. Despite his partner’s misjudged step, Hank trusts he will follow.

They keep up a steady pace, Hank making sure to keep an eye on Williams’ hands. He is pulling Alice along roughly, and one of her shoes falls off. Hank can hear the beating sounds of Gavin following him, spitting profanities.

It’s been a long time since Hank had the energy to run like this.

Eventually, Alice stumbles over a tree root and slides out of Williams’ grip. He turns after a few leaps, desperate to flee but looking conflicted. Hank slows down, his breath ragged. He can’t hear Gavin behind him anymore. Fuck.

“Are you okay?” Hank asks Alice, still keeping his eyes on Williams. Alice nods, on the ground. “It’s gonna be okay, kid,” he assures her, hoping he can keep her calm.

“Fuck you!” Williams yells. “You just wanna take my own child away from me! She’s mine!” 

His voice is rising steadily. 

Hank notices Gavin in the periphery of his vision. He has taken a detour through the woods, laying low and slowly creeping up on Williams. It’s a risky move, completely Gavin’s style. 

“Listen, Todd…” Hank begins.

“How the fuck do you know my name?” Williams roars. He seems to momentarily forget Alice on the ground, looking at Hank with a crazed look in his eyes. 

Hank stays where he is, keeping his focus on Williams.

“I know more than you think. Your daughters are injured. Both by your hand. I know that, my coworkers know it. Turn yourself in, make sure Alice doesn’t get hurt anymore.”

Williams is not pleased, but he obviously hasn’t expected this kind of talk, so he calms down and Hank thinks that Gavin could probably take him down from that distance. Then he sees with a sinking feeling that Williams is pulling out a gun from his jacket. His hand is shaking, but he is nevertheless pointing it vaguely at Hank.

Fuck. So that’s why Gavin got out of the car. He must have seen Williams’ weapon when Hank didn’t. 

“You all think I’m such a fucking loser,” Williams yells, spit flying everywhere. Hank holds his hands up, slowly approaching. “Don’t you think I’m trying? I just get fucked over whatever I do! And now you’re taking my daughter!”

Gavin’s voice cuts through Williams’ rambling.

“Todd Williams, you’re under arrest for car theft and aggravated assault, you have the right to--”

A car is heard from behind them now and Williams nervously turns around to find Gavin pointing his gun at him. In his panic, Williams fires, and Hank doesn’t have time to assert whether Gavin gets shot or not, because he sees his chance and takes it, sprinting towards Williams and slapping the gun out of his hand. The sound of the shot still rings through the forest and now Hank hears Gavin swear loudly. Alice screams in terror and jumps out of the way when Williams tries to struggle in Hank’s grip. He pulls the man’s arms back, forces him to bend forwards. Williams is still struggling. Hank hopes Alice isn’t looking. 

“On the ground, NOW!” he booms, startling Williams enough to comply. When he’s lying down, Hank recites his rights and handcuffs him. 

Chris and Tina are here now, their sirens causing strange blue and red shadows in the forest. Gavin struggles up from where he’s hunched, hand pressing against the bloody patch at his side. He looks pissed off, like Williams just ruined his favorite shirt. When Hank pulls Williams up from the ground to get him in the police car, Gavin punches the man in the face. Hank is definitely going to scold his partner after this. Right this moment, however, he simply glares at him. Gavin doesn’t pay any mind, clutching his side with the hand that didn’t just throw a punch.

“Can you make it back to the hotel without punching anyone?” Hank asks, patience running thin.

He lets Tina take Williams with her while he keeps pressure on Gavin’s wound as they go back to the hotel. He reminds Chris to let the medics know they have at least three people in need of medical attention.

***

SATURDAY **JULY 18TH** , 2020 - AM **03:41** :15

“Alice!” Kara croaks from the bed when Hank lets go of the girl in the doorway, hefting herself up on her elbow, reaching towards her little sister. 

Alice lets go of Hank’s hand and rushes to Kara’s side. The terrified expression that she has been etched on her face for the past hour melts away. She wraps her arms around Kara’s waist, like she’ll never let go. Both of them are crying, loud sobs echoing through the room. Hank looks away, nods to the officer on watch that let them in. 

Then Luther comes up behind them, his breath hitching when he sees the little girl.

“Alice,” he says in a choked voice.

Alice is still crying but lets go of Kara to run up to Luther who hitches her up into the air and swings her around. He hugs her tightly, and Hank notices just how hard the man’s trying to fight back tears when Alice hugs him back.

“Alice, we were so worried about you,” he mumbles, a soft tenor that seems to put the girl at ease. 

Hank is about to say something, then he notices the familiar face walking out the kitchen too, towels in his arms. Hank locks eyes with Connor, and for a moment he forgets that he’s supposed to be talking to the victims. 

“Didn’t I fucking tell you to stay where you were?” he snaps.

“I couldn’t leave Kara by herself!” Connor answers stubbornly. 

Alice looks over Luther’s shoulder, still crying but having calmed down, just a little.

“Connor?” she whispers, and he smiles reassuringly at her.

Hank drags a hand over his face and turns to Kara.

“We’re going to need statements from you three, unfortunately, and photos of your injury. I understand it’s not exactly what you wanna do but it’s for the best if we can do it as soon as possible.” 

Kara sits up straight, propped against the pillows on the bed. Her face is weary. “I understand,” she says, voice steady, in a way that makes Hank suspect this is hardly the first time this has happened to her.

Luther and Connor go into the kitchen on Kara’s demand while Hank takes photographs of the clear bruises on her neck and her arms, the gash on her head. He cleans the headwound with the towels that Connor left on the bedside table. Kara barely winces.

“Is it all right if I record your statement?” he asks, as gently as possible. “For the investigation. Makes it easier to go back and understand what happened.” 

Kara nods, pretends she is all right. Hank never liked this part of his job.

It’s another five minutes until an ambulance shows up and a young medic walks in to tend to Kara’s wounds. Hank informs the family that they’ll likely have to go back to Detroit in the morning and get fingerprints scanned and so on. 

Williams is in the back of a police car with Gavin and Tina. They’re taking him in for interrogation. With their statements finished, Hank waits for the medic’s report and sits down by the kitchen table, writing down his phone number, as well as Jeffrey’s, for Kara. 

Hank is calling Jeffrey, updating him on the case. He knows he has to go back as well, supporting Gavin in the process. Sumo is still in their room; he has to pick him up before leaving.

Jeffrey calls the hotel owner, Ms. Rose Chapman, and informs her of what has happened. She is distraught, he says, but demands to know everything. Hank informs Jeffrey of Connor’s encounter with Williams to pass on to Ms. Chapman.

She talks to Connor on the phone, too. He’s sitting opposite Hank in the kitchen, staring intently at the hardwood table. Hank hears Ms. Chapman asking him how he is, Connor telling her he’s fine, he just has to get cleared to leave and then go to his class, which starts in about an hour, he notes. Hank thinks that sounds like a shit idea, and Ms. Chapman seems to think so too, because she orders him to go home and get some sleep.

“I’ll walk you home, once these are settled,” he tells Connor, reaching out to put his hand gently on top of Connor’s. It makes Connor smile, and Hank’s heart flutters. “Do you have anyone we can call for you? Parents? Partner?” 

Connor quickly draws his hand away, his expression on high alert.

“Why?”

“Why?” Hank repeats, dumbfounded. “Because you’ve been threatened, and your friend was assaulted tonight. Of course we gotta call whoever’s-”

“Don’t call my parents, they don’t need…” Connor falters and the panic in his voice is enough to let Hank drop that particular subject.

“All right, how about siblings? Boyfriend, girlfriend?” 

He tries not to sound like he’s fishing for answers, but it’s difficult to keep his neutral expression when Connor says,

“I haven’t had a boyfriend in years, so no. My brother is… Well, we don’t talk that much. There’s really no need, Sergeant. I have my friends here; they’re the only ones who need to know.” 

“Okay, okay,” Hank concedes. 

SATURDAY **JULY 18TH** , 2020 - AM **05:56** :58

The sun is peeking out from the horizon when Hank has finally wrapped up at Kara’s apartment. Luther thanks him, quietly wishing them a good night despite the early morning light, and Hank feels at least comforted in knowing that the girls aren’t completely alone. **Connor still has the shirt on from earlier that night. Hank offers him his jacket as extra warmth, but Connor shrugs it off.**

“I’m fine, thank you,” he murmurs, clutching at his arms. 

They’re quiet for several minutes, walking side by side down the path towards the boardwalk. Hank doesn’t know where Connor is staying, so he simply follows him down the path, glancing at the soft waves crashing to the shore. There’s fog outside this morning and he can feel the moisture clinging to his arms. 

“Thank you for helping,” Connor suddenly says. It sounds deliberate, as if he’s been preparing to say it for a while. Hank digs his hands into his pockets.

“Of course. It’s my job, after all.”

“You’re a good detective,” Connor continues. 

“No need to butter me up, Con,” he jokes. It falls flat. Receiving compliments is not something he knows how to handle. 

“You were really good with Alice back there.” 

“I didn’t do much. She was scared and tired; of course you gotta be soft with a child in this kinda situation.” 

He doesn’t think there was anything special in the way he handled her statement. She was already conflicted about him, knowing he saved her in the forest from a very scary situation, but also that he was the one to arrest her father. He just tried to be kind, to not rush her while she recounted the night. 

“I mean it,” Connor insists. They’re quiet for a moment, then, “Do you have kids, Sergeant?” 

The question is benign, polite. Connor doesn’t know, only looks at him with mildly curious eyes. Yet it makes Hank’s stomach do a flip, like he just missed the last step of the stairs at home.

“I - Yes. Had. He left us three years ago. His name was Cole, turned six right before...” Hank manages and feels his throat close up.

“...Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Hey it’s fine, you couldn’t know,” Hank says, and he finds that it actually is kind of fine. “It’s just a pain in the ass to keep working as if everything's A-okay, you know. I don’t talk about him that much because so many people look so fucking uncomfortable around me as soon as children are brought up.”

“Mm,” Connor hums, probably not knowing what to say. That’s okay, Hank thinks. “Did he look like you?”

Hank has to think about that for a second.

“I think he had my eyes, but he inherited his looks from his mother, thankfully. Shared my taste in bad movies, at least. He liked being in the kitchen with me, too. Or maybe he just wanted to be in the same room. He was a very social kid,” Hank rambles and hears himself being that parent that won’t shut up about their kid. He clears his throat, glancing at Connor to make sure he hasn’t bored him too much.

“What about you, Connor? Got any kids?”

It makes Connor laugh and Hank wants to hear that delightful sound again.

“Umm, no,” he chuckles. “No, not yet. But I’d like to, some day.” 

“Eh, you still got time for that,” Hank says. 

“So do you, Hank.”

It’s too soon when they reach the lake house where Connor shares space with his dance partner and other friends. Small, but looking cozy, he thinks. Close to the water, too. 

Connor yawns, pressing his sleeved hand against his mouth, stretched wide. Hank’s chest tightens. 

“Keep it, looks better on you anyway,” he insists when Connor starts to peel off the hoodie, and he revels in the soft smile he gets in return.

Shoving his hands back in his pockets, Hank stands outside the house waiting for Connor to get inside. Connor pulls the glass door on the porch to the side and turns around to look at Hank again.

“Get some sleep, Connor,” Hank says, and he can’t help the grin on his face when Connor says,

“Night, Sergeant.”

They keep standing there, looking at each other and the silence stretches between them. Hank feels as if he should be saying something more. Connor is looking up at him with his enormous eyes and Hank feels something yearning in him. He takes a small step forward, not sure himself where he’s going with this. Something is happening in Connor’s face, a small change in expression, his lower lip dropping a fraction of an inch.

“Connor,” Hank says, unsure.

Connor is gripping the sliding door hard enough for his knuckles to turn white and he’s leaning forwards.

It takes a second for Hank to realize what’s happening. When he does, he sucks in a great heap of air and clears his throat. He takes a step back, the distance between them becoming large.

“I’ll see you around, Connor.”

Connor looks disappointed and something in Hank’s stomach tightens.

“Yeah,” Connor says quietly. “Take care.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank: *screams in Alanis Morisette* CUZ I GOT ONE HAND IN MY POCKET  
> (if you didn't notice, don't worry about it)  
> \---
> 
> Chapter summary: Todd is apprehended by Hank and Gavin (who is shot). Alice is returned safely to Kara and Luther. Hank will need to go back to Detroit to process this case. Hank walks Connor back to the lake house and they ALMOST kiss, but Hank chickens out and leaves.
> 
> \---
> 
> We hope you enjoyed this early chapter. It's a little shorter than usual, and we hope to post the next chapter (also kinda short) during the weekend, as usual.


	7. Saturday

SATURDAY **JULY 18TH** , 2020 - PM **02:01** :13

It’s a strange afternoon. Connor wakes up, eyes dry and itchy from a restless sleep, and can't really say if he feels any better than when he got home and barely had the energy to pull out the mattress. He can't get the night’s events out of his mind, the bruises on Kara's neck and Hank's secure yet somewhat detached professionalism.

Markus is doing his best impression of a bull in a china shop, even though Connor knows, from experience, that he's trying not to let the clatter from the bowls and plates make too much noise. 

"You okay?" Markus asks him and sits down next to him, a bowl of heated dinner from last week in his hands. "I'm sorry about last night. It started with North asking Chloe to come, then I thought it was only fair Simon would--"

Connor's head is pounding, and it takes a moment to remember what Markus is referring to. When his brain catches up to the conversation, he is struck by how distant last night feels. To think he was upset about a party just last night.

From Markus' obsession with the party, Connor draws the conclusion that he hasn’t been told what happened with Kara and her dad. The police have informed Ms. Chapman and the manager. He guesses that they have kept the arrest on the down-low, for obvious reasons. The longer he can withhold this information from Markus, who can be overly protective, the better.

"I'm fine, I just needed to cool off," he tells Markus.

"I heard you come in this morning. Were you by chance crashing somewhere, or at someone's?" He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. 

Connor wishes he would leave it alone. He’s not in a mindset to think about where he and Hank left things off last night. His stupid, silly, pathetic crush on someone who never dares take the next step.

"No!" Connor answers, way too quickly. "No, I just… couldn't sleep in the room I borrowed. Smelled of mold."

Markus eyes him suspiciously, but he lets it go and finishes his lunch.

"Why aren't you teaching with North today?" he suddenly asks, pausing with his fork halfway to his mouth. Connor bites the inside of his cheek, thinking.

"I was feeling under the weather. Didn't want to risk infecting anyone in case I had caught the flu or something."

Markus sees through the lie. He quirks a brow at him and Connor stands up, too fast because his head spins and he has to lean forward on his knees. Too brightly, he says,

"Well, I feel fine now. I should go join North after class for some practice. When's your guitar lesson start?"

Markus eyes him suspiciously but lets him get away with it.

Connor and Markus take their time getting to the hotel complex. They take a detour through the forest, following the road that circles the entire place. It feels good to have some more time to think, and even though Connor can practically feel the stare from Markus, can hear the wheels in his head turning, he trusts that his friend won't be as invasive and blunt as North. 

“What are you doing for tomorrow?” Connor asks, wanting to steer the atmosphere away from his bad mood to safer, more fun things. It’s a chance to catch up as well, since he has no idea what Markus has planned. 

Before the dance event that he and North are leading tomorrow night, Markus will hold the entertainments while the guests eat and chat. The last couple of weeks he has been singing acapella with Josh and Daniel, but he also tends to grow bored of doing the same thing every week. This question sends his friend into a vivid description of the piece he’s written specifically to play on the baby grand. 

Despite the easier mood, the headache is getting worse and Connor discreetly presses his index finger to his temple. 

He follows Markus into the music room where the guitar lessons will begin in ten minutes and helps him pick down the instruments from the wall and place them by each chair. They keep discussing the show and so Markus' next question throws him off completely.

“Who were you talking to this morning?” 

Markus' tone is light enough to tell Connor that he knows something is wrong. It gives Connor pause. 

“No one,” he answers, too fast. 

Markus is not convinced, frowning at him with a sad expression, but maybe his mind is elsewhere because he doesn’t push it.

The children will arrive with their parents at any moment, so Connor stands up and wishes him good luck in the doorway. 

“Connor?” Markus asks, “You know you can talk to me, right?”

Connor blinks, wondering where this came from. Markus is serious and maybe Connor looks worse than he thinks, because the worry in his eyes is tangible.

“I know,” he answers quietly, momentarily thinking that he perhaps shouldn’t shut his oldest friend out. 

The sounds of Markus’ guitar coupled with his smooth voice carries Connor through the corridor when he walks towards the studio. The melody sounds a little sad and it pulls on something in his chest. 

One of the cleaning staff is mopping the floor and he notices it’s Simon. Mopping might be an overstatement, because Simon looks like he has been in that same spot for several minutes, staring into the music room where Markus is playing. Connor sees him lean on the mop and sigh wistfully. Connor makes a decision and walks up to him. He looks up, smiles sweetly at Connor.

“He sings like an angel, doesn’t he?” Simon whispers dreamily. “Could listen to that voice all day.”

“Yeah,” Connor says. “Too bad he doesn’t know what a catch he is, huh?”

Simon does a double take at Connor, who tilts his head in question. “What?”

“I thought you guys were, y’know,” Simon says, trying to hide a smile.

“Hah!” Connor suddenly blurts and covers his mouth. 

“I mean, I never see one without the other outside of work,” Simon explains, fast and awkward.

“No, no, no. No, we’re not… I mean, it - _Once_ , but that was long ago and… Weird. We’re just old friends, that’s all.”

“Oh,” Simon nods slowly, his fingers drumming absentmindedly against the mop. “So is he single then?” 

“Yes!” Connor says emphatically. “Very single. Definitely single.” He pauses when he realizes maybe he put too much emphasis on the single thing. “Not in a weird way,” he says. “In a normal way,” and then shuts his mouth, giving up.

Simon smiles a little bit unsure, but he looks pleased.

“Good to know.” he hums, getting back to cleaning the floor, now with a warm smile as he stares back towards the music room.

Simon's delight at finding out Markus is on the market is a comfort for Connor. At least something might happen between them and the gang doesn't have to spend the rest of summer being embarrassed by Markus' failed attempts at flirting. Then Connor thinks about the sergeant. Hank, who acts confident and suave until Connor tries to deepen their relationship. Except when they were at the Tunnel. And at the talent show, before Connor asked him to dance.

It feels like the pieces fall into place. Connor finally knows what to do about Hank.

As if the man read Connor's mind, a buzz in his pocket and the very official name on the screen shows that Hank just texted him. Even though the text is professional and polite, Connor feels the butterflies in his stomach. 

_Mr. Stern,_

_Your friend and her sister have been released from the hospital and they are fine. We have declared your statement sufficient and you won’t need to come in but you should make yourself available for a later time if we need to supplement it for the continuing investigation._

_Sgt Hank Anderson, DPD_

Connor smiles to himself, wishing he could see the man type out the message. Then the phone buzzes again, from a number he doesn’t recognize. His stomach does a summersault.

_Hope you're well Con. We're gonna get this bastard alright. Hank._

Connor's thumb hovers over the keys, but he doesn’t get to figure out an answer before he receives another message.

_Kara says hi._

Connor begins to type.

_Say hi from me too._

He bites his lip, wondering if he can start his plan right now.

_Still in Detroit then?_

He waits for the answer, and grins at the quick reply.

_Yeah been stuck with Gavins ass and fuck ton of paprwork._

_Coming back this evening. Sumo misses you._

Connor quickly types his reply:

_I miss him too. And you better come back or I'll never forgive you for not letting me say goodbye._

He waits a beat.

_To Sumo, of course._

He imagines the smirk on Hank's face.

_Of course._

***

SATURDAY **JULY 18TH** , 2020 - PM **11:08** :52

Connor has thought this through by now. He has had time to relay the past night to North while they practiced. He has taken a much-needed nap, showered the sweat and dirt out of his hair, dug out a pair of shorts that he knows makes his backside look great. Hank is back at the resort, and judging by the latest text message, he's going to be awake for a while now.

 _How the fuck am I gon back to sleep now, when people are grilling and screeching like it's the fucking fourth of july outside my house?_ Hank answered him twenty minutes ago, after being quiet for several hours, no doubt because of his car ride back and then inadvertently falling asleep.

His phone chimes. He turned the sound on so he wouldn’t miss when Hank texted.

_Finally!!!_

_The celebrations stopped, I'm guessing._

_Might get another couple hours tonight after all. You should too._

He hesitates before he sends it and closes his eyes as he presses the send icon.

_Are you alone?_

Connor’s heart hammers. For a second he thinks it’s too bold, and what kind of idiot sends a text like that to a police officer? He stares at the screen, biting his lower lip until it draws blood. When Hank finally answers, Connor has to hold his breath before he opens the inbox.

_Yes._

His breath hitches. He has to drop the phone and walk about the living room a few times before he unlocks the screen again and continues to type.

_Doing anything in particular this evening?_

He doesn’t need to wait long, as Hank answers almost immediately. 

_Depends on what you’re suggesting._

In that moment, Connor throws the rest of his caution to the wind. Not even bothering with a jacket or even his Dance Academy hoodie, he runs into his room, sprays himself with too much of his cologne and pulls on his shoes. Phone and keys in his back pocket, he jogs, or powerwalks, over to where Hank is staying. 

It’s dark outside by the time he reaches the parking lot, and for a split second he fears a repeat of last night. He looks over his shoulder in case anyone is behind him, even though logically the person he fears to walk into is miles away. He checks his phone when he’s outside apartment 2A. Hank wrote him ten minutes ago.

_If there's anything you want from me._

Five minutes later.

_Connor?_

Right now.

_Did I completely misread this conversation?_

Connor’s phone chimes loudly now and he smiles, wondering if Hank can hear his signal from inside. Of course he can, it’s paper walls in these houses, he thinks.

_Would you mind opening the door, Sergeant?_

Even as he sends it, he feels a prickle of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. Fear that he really is an immature, coddled asshole that just assumes everyone wants him. Even Hank, who honestly could get anyone in this place without flexing a muscle.

He has no time to think about it too long, because Hank fiddles with the lock and wrenches the door open. He has a wild look about him.

“Can I come in?” Connor asks, and his voice is thankfully even, sounding confident even though his knees are shaking. 

Hank opens the door wider and lets him in, looking like he just got out of bed with his hair tousled and a well worn shirt with some band logo on it. Connor momentarily forgets his objective and considers simply getting Hank to cuddle up with him on the bed, Connor’s head resting on the broad expanse of his chest. Of course he can’t; he’s on a mission: Get in Hank’s pants. And not let him start second guessing himself or back off. 

They stand there, in the narrow hallway, simply staring at each other. Hank looks like he wants to ask something.

“Something wrong, Connor?” His voice is rough, and the low rumble tickles at Connor’s senses. He wants. There’s a faint blush spreading across Hank’s cheeks and Connor wants to see how far he can take this teasing.

“Nothing’s wrong, Sergeant,” he says, enjoying the rise he gets out of Hank, whose fingers twitch, just a little. 

He wonders if the sergeant can tell what he’s thinking, if his detective skills can pick up the way Connor practically vibrates in his urge to simply throw himself at him. He thinks Hank might be, because he corners him in the hallway, and once again Connor is distracted by the massive bulk of this man. He feels tiny in comparison, and oh, isn’t that a thought?

Hank tilts his head back and eyes him over his nose. It’s as if he’s waiting for a sign, a green light from Connor before he tries anything. Connor knows what that means, and he closes the distance between them in a swift motion, grabbing hold of the back of Hank’s neck. He feels the muscles stiffen beneath his palm and they stop just a breath’s width from each other, inhaling each other’s air. 

Then Hank closes his eyes and Connor takes that as an invite. The kiss is a little too enthusiastic and their teeth clash together. Connor chuckles into Hank’s mouth and pulls him just a little closer, until locks of his hair fall into his eyes. When Hank pulls away enough to look Connor in the eye, he sees nothing but want in his eyes. Pure desire. Like Hank is a wild animal and Connor is his prey. He might be getting a little lightheaded by the way his breaths come in quick bursts. He wants that focus, that rawness on him. 

Hank draws in a sharp breath through his nose and Connor thinks that he’s going to get the full experience when Hank deflates and takes a step back, immediately creating a considerable distance between them. A pang hits Connor in the chest.

“You can’t be serious about…” Hank trails off, studying Connor’s face in minute detail. “Con, this is a bad idea,” he says, voice shaking. “You’re in shock.”

Connor sighs, knowing what the man is insinuating, and pulls their hips flush against each other. There is no question that he is hard already, and Hank groans at the pressure. The feel of Hank’s own interest against his hip elevates his pulse until it pounds against his throat. 

Before he can protest any further, Connor continues,

“I’ve been waiting for this for days, or have you forgotten the other night at the club. I know full well what I’m doing.” Hank breathes out again, lightly pushing Connor off, but his hands are still firmly placed on Connor’s arms. “If you want this too, why not pursue it?"

“Connor…” Hank sighs. He still holds him close, his gorgeous eyes looking almost black in this light. He hasn’t showered since the chase, and the faint scent of sweat is intoxicating. “We really shouldn’t. You have been threatened and scared to death for your friend. Let's not complicate it even further." With that, he gently pushes Connor’s hands away from him yet again, avoiding his eye. The ever-growing frustration inside him builds up, ready to burst.

“Are you saying this because you shouldn’t want this or because you don’t?”

“I am saying this because this--” he waves again between them, “this can’t happen, all right?”

“Why not?” Connor asks, arousal tampered by his frustration. “You know I’ve wanted this since before last night. Tell me you’re not interested, and I’ll leave.” 

He folds his arms, a second of doubt. Hank drags a hand across his face. It seems Hank's resolve is breaking, because he is looking at him with soft bedroom eyes and despite his protests, he reaches for Connor again and pulls him close. Connor stands still, worrying that Hank might just bolt if he makes any quick movement. Hank huffs, his lips finding the crown of Connor’s head, placing a firm kiss there. 

“Do you want me?” Connor asks, voice muffled by the fabric of Hank’s shirt, and it elicits a huff of laughter from Hank.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank says. Connor can hear the grin. “God help me.”

Hank releases him just enough to catch his lips in a slow kiss. Connor sighs into the touch, letting his hands travel up and down his muscled arms, only covered by the old, washed out T-shirt. Why he finds Hank’s loungewear incredibly arousing, he does not know - nor does he care to think about it. 

Hank presses Connor up against the old flower-patterned tapestry. Slides his hands over Connor’s front, thumbs grazing his nipples. At Connor’s whimper, Hank raises his eyebrows at him, and his clever fingers roll and pinch the nubs. Connor needs to breathe properly before he collapses. 

When their lips find each other again, Connor moans into Hank’s mouth and urges him to deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping inside. He can taste coffee, slightly covered by toothpaste. When Hank presses his palm to Connor's crotch and the hand starts to move, the friction and the heat is exquisite.

“Connor,” Hank murmurs into the kiss, panting and Connor loves the way it sounds. “Please, _please_ tell me you got rubber on you.” Connor’s knees nearly give in and for a moment he is only held up by Hank’s own knee pressed between his legs.

“In my back pocket,” he answers, voice trembling.

Hank shoves his hand into his pocket, digging out the condom. It has been hiding in a small side pocket of his duffel bag that he hasn’t opened in ages and he hopes it hasn’t become too damaged in the bag. 

He has been disappointed more than once by guys who act confident before they drag him home. Then they usually get performance anxiety, or they expect Connor to suck them off. Now here he is, pressed up against the wall, with the sexiest man he’s ever met sliding down on his knees in front of him. Hank pulls down Connor’s shorts with a glance up at him. Connor meets his eyes, swallowing. The pants are tight, and Connor has to help wiggle a bit to get them off. He steps out of them and Hank throws them over his shoulders. 

When Hank rips open the packet with his teeth and rolls the condom over Connor’s dick, he thinks he just might come from this alone. Then Hank’s mouth is on him and he has to cover his face with his arm to stifle the desperate whine coming out of him. He can’t keep himself upright, grabbing hold of the plaster, and breathes in shallow breaths. Hank hums around his dick and Connor’s hand immediately goes to the thick, dirty blond hair on top of his head. God, is he really swallowing him down right now? 

Connor thinks he might have died. That must be it, because there’s no way this can be happening right now.

Hank pulls off nearly all the way, then descends on him again, taking him in fully. Connor accidentally jerks his hips forward, but he’s too far gone to get the apology out. He's going to come embarrassingly quickly if he keeps this up, yet Hank seems to sense that and doesn't let up. Hank’s hands stay on either side of Connor’s hips and keeps going, sucking, dragging his tongue over the underside, making pleased noises. Connor feels his orgasm closing in. Connor chances a glance down and…

Hank is staring intently at him, blue eyes piercing into him, into his chest and suddenly Connor’s body is shuddering as he spends himself inside Hank’s mouth. 

He shakes, feeling sweat trickle down his back and on the back of his knees. Hank ties the condom up, throws it into the trashcan by the door and gingerly stands up.

“Gonna feel this in the morning,” he grumbles, but insists on carrying Connor’s boneless body to the bed. They both huff a breath as they land on the mattress. Hank lays on top of him, kissing him slowly, affectionately. There is surprisingly little rush to his movements. “You’re… something else, Connor,” he says into the corner of Connor’s mouth. 

He can’t help but smile at the gentle gestures, still a little lightheaded from his orgasm. But then he feels Hank’s rock-hard bulge in his sweats and remembers he’s on a mission. 

"Hank…" he murmurs and kisses him deeper.

He snakes one hand down Hank’s front, teasing with his fingers under the waistband, then - much to Hank’s disappointment - pulls them away to pinch one of his nipples. Hank groans and his head falls back, hips moving as if on their own accord. Connor teases his cock with featherlight fingers through the fabric of his pants, and Hank makes a wrecked noise. Connor wants to keep hearing that sound. 

It’s all going so well, until an unfamiliar beeping noise pierces through their haze, slapping them back to reality. Hank groans in frustration, stopping his thrusts against Connor. He lets the phone ring one more time, eyes focusing on Connor’s reddened lips, chafed from kissing. 

“I’m sorry, I need to get this.” With a soft kiss to Connor’s temple, he gets off the bed and heads to the cupboard on the other side of the room. He looks at the number of the caller, groans again. “It’s my work phone. Sorry,” he adds one last time when he looks over at Connor’s spent body. 

Someone is giving Hank a lot of information, Connor thinks. He suddenly feels very vulnerable and drapes the cover over his lower body. Hank seems concentrated on his phone call, frowning and answering in short sentences.

“How many? I’ll call Gavin, yeah. I’ll send them to you, just give me a minute” 

He mouths an apology to Connor, his pants no longer tented and his serious, official expression back on. Connor’s stomach drops when he looks apologetically over at him, as if he’s just another kid in trouble, another stray cat that has been dragged through the threshold. Hank adjusts himself in his pants, before grabbing a notebook and scrambling through his bag for a pen.

He seems awfully focused on work in less than a minute, barely gesturing for Connor to leave or stay, or anything. Connor listens to Hank talk on the phone in the kitchen, shuffling with papers and writing things down. Kara’s name comes up and other words that sound properly detective-y. Connor tries to understand but there are words and references he doesn’t get, and he only hears half the conversation. Instead he stares blankly into the ceiling, feeling cold. He makes a decision.

He pulls on his sticky pants and pets Sumo on the way out. If he takes another one of Hank’s hoodies from his laundry basket - well, sometimes clothes just disappear, right? _Hah_ , he thinks immaturely, Chloe sure didn’t get two hoodies. It’s an empty victory, he thinks as he eases the door closed behind him.

***

SATURDAY **JULY 18TH** , 2020 - PM **11:51** :59

Connor walks home, feeling hollow. He can’t stop thinking about the way Hank pretty much ran out on him. He feels dirty.

When he gets back to the lake house, he can see the lights are still on in the kitchen. He doesn’t have the energy to talk to anyone but they’re essentially in his bedroom. He braces himself and walks inside.

“Hello?” he says quietly, hoping no one will be there. He breathes a sigh of relief when no one answers. He walks over to the couch which is pulled out and sinks down. Then he jumps in the air when Markus sits down next to him. “Markus! Jesus, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” Markus says, “I thought you heard me.” His expression is grim. “How are you?”

Connor bites his lip, unsure what to say. He just wants to go to bed, forget this day ever happened, but Markus is here and obviously not going away.

“I’m all right.”

“I heard about the kidnapping and everything that happened, with the police chase and shit. Goddamnit, Connor! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Connor looks at his hands. He flinches when Markus puts his hands on his, a warm, gentle thing. Connor doesn’t want anyone to touch him right now, but he lets the touch linger for a moment before lifting them, Markus’ grips falling away.

“Sorry, I’ve just been preoccupied.” He doesn’t really recognize his own voice. “I would have talked to you, but we haven’t really, lately, have we?”

Markus hums in agreement, “I want to be here for you.”

“Yeah? You’ve done nothing but talk about Simon and whatever else’s been going on with you,” Connor says accusingly, and immediately afterwards feels bad. It’s not even true. Markus is his friend and it has been Connor who has been shutting him out. 

“Hey,” Markus says and there’s a new strain in his voice. Connor looks up. “I’m your friend. I want you to tell me stuff. And, sure, I’ll think about other things and have stuff going on in my life, but I can make time for you. I care about you, Connor.”

Connor blinks away tears.

“Whatever,” he says, voice horribly garbled. “I’m gonna go to sleep now. Please turn off the lights when you go.”

He doesn’t look up to check what Markus does, just pulls off his shoes and slips into bed, turning his back on him. He hears him sigh, then the mattress shifts as he stands up and goes. A moment later the light shuts off and the door to Markus’ room closes with a soft thud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hah! Did you think everything was going to be okay??? Hmmmm? SIKE! We’re not even close! (we’re actually kinda close).
> 
> \---
> 
> Authors: we need a character that isn’t one of the main ones, with no actual impact on the story and no underlying storyline.  
> Authors: DANIEL!
> 
> \--
> 
> Connor: *having one (1) coherent thought about Hank* Yes, it’s all coming together!
> 
> \---
> 
> Connor: I'll show up at Hanks place, THEN he'll kiss me!!  
> Hank: *actually kisses him*  
> Connor *Plancton voice* I didn’t think I would get this far


	8. Sunday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost there!! Enjoy, second to last chapter!

SUNDAY **JULY 19TH** , 2020 - AM **10:11** :39

“You called my brother?” 

Connor can’t believe what he’s hearing, shocked, and betrayed by his oldest friend. 

“Someone had to, Connor.” Markus shrugs, unapologetic. “He said to tell you that he won’t stop calling until you pick up the phone.” With that, Markus leaves him alone, walking out of the house.

It’s quiet inside, the only sounds coming from the whistle of the wind through the trees. Connor sits motionless on the couch, legs pulled close to his chest. He feels like an idiot. A complete, pathetic, sad idiot.

Who was he kidding, getting involved with a guy like Hank? He should have realized that Hank couldn't give a damn about an emotional mess like him.

The phone chimes and the familiar face of his brother pops up on the screen. It’s the fifth time today. Connor groans, rolling his eyes like a teenager and answers on the fourth ring.

“Did you want something?” he says by way of greeting, not even trying to mask his annoyance.

Nines doesn’t answer right away.

“Hello?” Connor tries. “Am I talking to myself?”

“ _Not fun getting no response, is it_?” his brother suddenly says drily. “ _Why didn’t you call me back_?” 

Connor sighs.

“I don’t need your help, Nines.”

“ _No, of course not, you were just assaulted by a drug addict and nearly strangled to death_...”

“I wasn’t--” Connor begins but lets out a frustrated groan as Nines talks over him.

“ _When were you going to call me? When they finally put the tag on your toe_?”

Connor says nothing. He’s ashamed, he’s sad and now he’s mostly pissed off at his brother’s attempt to guilt him into talking. 

“ _Cricket, I’m serious. Do you need me to come get you_?” The use of his childhood nickname for Connor sets something off in him. He is not a child that they can manipulate into confession. With that he hangs up and firmly presses his phone into the cushions, pretending it's Nines’ smug face. He throws off his pajamas and furiously puts on his work clothes. Then he picks his phone up again and sets it to silent mode. 

On his way back to the hotel, he notices that his shoes are untied, but he’s too upset to kneel down and tie them. He risks falling over several times, swearing every time he stumbles.

***

SUNDAY **JULY 19TH** , 2020 - AM **10:26** :56

The studio is empty and blessedly cool when Connor gets inside. He breathes in the air in the room. There’s a certain quality to it. It fills him with thoughts of the years he spent training for his first instructor, how he kept getting stuck on the same things over and over. He had such a focus then, only caring about getting the moves right, of nailing the next audition. 

He misses it. Now all his thoughts are caught up in Hank. Hank, Hank, Hank. 

He can’t rid himself of the memories. Hank’s hands on his body, Hank’s mouth on him, his breath on his skin. It’s all too much. Connor blinks, hoping it will clear his head. He jacks his phone up to the music system and selects something fast, a beat that vibrates under his feet as he walks out onto the floor. Stretches. Not enough. There's an urgency in him to get to the dancing. He wants to get lost in it. He gets up, runs, starts practicing a jump. It’s an easy one, that he has been doing perfectly for years. After a moment his legs are straining from it. He switches to a different one. It makes his heart race, his breath burning in his throat with the exhilaration.

His jumps are interrupted when he hears a knock on the door. He almost slips as his concentration breaks and he jogs over to the door, swinging it open, perhaps with more force than necessary, still high on the energy rushing through him.

“Hank?” he says upon opening the door.

He's lucky he’s already red in the face from exertion or he’s sure he would be blushing madly now.

Hank stands still outside, taking Connor's appearance in. He looks tired. Probably worked all night. His shirt is wrinkled but looks new.

“Connor,” Hank says and Connor lifts his gaze from Hank’s chest area.

“Hi,” he says dumbly and Hank smiles a little, a grin that makes his insides squirm.

“Can I just talk to you for a second?” he asks, looking behind Connor, maybe to see if there’s anyone in there with him.

Connor moves aside to let him in and Hank walks past. Connor can’t help breathing him in, his heartbeat accelerating at the comforting scent.

“Just doing some practice by myself,” Connor says by way of explanation. Hank nods.

“Working hard,” Hank says. His gaze sweeps the room before coming to stop back at Connor. “I just came by to tell you that I'm-. Well, I'm leaving today. We're interrogating Todd Williams now that he's sobered up.” Connor stops and stares. Doesn’t know what to say. Hank continues, "But the evidence is pretty solid. We’re taking him to court. Your friends are under witness protection. They're safe."

Connor is still stuck on the _leaving_ part and looks up again. His look probably tells Hank where his mind is, and he has the decency to look awkward.

“When?” Connor asks, whispering.

“Now,” Hank says and Connor swallows.

“I see.”

“Connor-” Hank begins and Connor turns away from him, walking over to his phone to shut off the music. Hank walks up to him from behind.

“You don’t have to explain,” Connor says. His hands are shaking.

He’s angry now. Doesn’t know where the anger comes from but it rears up inside him and he turns around to face Hank. Hank is standing right in front of him, looking sad.

"Connor--" Hank begins, Connor can feel the warmth of his hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs it off. "Connor, I don't understand what you want from me."

"What I want?" Connor snaps. "What I want is for you to not be such a- a fucking coward!" His own words take him off guard, but he refuses to take them back. Hank recoils. "I get it, you just wanted to have some fun and flirt with a young twink or, or something. It's fine, I just wish you could have given me a heads up or something."

His eyes are burning, his heart thumping painfully against his ribcage. 

Hank’s voice has lost its softness, "What the fuck does that mean? I told you it was a bad idea--"

"Yeah but you had no problem with the flirting, with the drunk grinding, the touches. As long as there's no commitment, no witnesses right?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Co--"

Connor bulldozes over him.

"Why won't you dance with me?" He fights down the tears. "What are you so afraid of?"

_Why don't you want me?_

"I'm _not_ _afraid_ ," Hank growls, and the silent rage fuels Connor's mood. 

"Could've fooled me."

Hank is still for a moment. His throat moves as he swallows.

“You’re not even going to tell me what it’s really about?” Connor asks.

“I told you already-”

“No, actually, you came with a pathetic excuse and it’s all just bullshit and you know it!” He repeats his question. “Why won’t you dance with me? We’re all alone.” He waits a beat for Hank to answer and when it seems he won’t, Connor goes on, “You’re a fucking coward, Hank.”

“I’m not afraid of dancing with you,” Hank says, voice infuriatingly level. 

“Yeah? Then dance with me,” Connor says, daring him, wanting to break that stiff exterior. 

He presses play on the music again and marches up to Hank, offers himself for Hank to lead. Hank looks around the room again, and then back to Connor. His eyes have turned to small slits and Connor meets that look head on.

“Connor…”

“Yeah,” he says bitterly. “Didn’t think so.” He lets his arms fall and steps back from Hank. Walks away from him and says over his shoulder, “I have to practice. You should leave.”

He waits for a second, hoping through his anger that Hank will walk up to him, tell him he made a mistake, take Connor into his arms and just dance with him. He grits his teeth. Gets up on his toes and spins. He keeps his eyes trained on the focal point, spinning, controlled, not once looking to see if Hank’s staying or going.

He almost jumps when Hank’s voice breaks through the music.

“You’re a fucking piece of work, you know that?”

Connor ignores him. Hank walks a bit closer. Connor sees him in the mirror. He keeps spinning.

“You walk into my life like you have any idea what’s going on, expecting things of me, imagining me into something I’m not.” Connor tries to block him out. "Why do you have to push everything so much? I'm trying, really trying to do you right--"

Connor scoffs.

"And by the way, you're the one who snuck out like a fucking asshole without saying goodbye. Do you have any idea how fucking used I--?" Hank's voice breaks, and he sounds so hurt. Connor's posture falters.

“You don’t know me, Connor. You don’t know who I am or what I carry. I’m... shit.” Hank slumps and presses a hand to his face. “There’s not enough of me left to offer you anything.”

Connor stops spinning, can't bear to do anything but stand, and breathe, fixedly forward. Then he hears the door slam closed hard enough to make the mirrors shudder.

He breathes heavily, coming to a stop. The music changes, the piece that he usually practices spins to. He follows the music. In the middle of the room, in front of the mirror, he begins doing fouettes. He keeps his gaze locked on himself, one spin at a time. It should be child’s play. Given, it was a long time ago he regularly practiced ballet moves. He loses his focus, has to stop. Breathe. He gets back into the spin, one at a time. His glutes and leg muscles are screaming at him. He spins again, again, again. Suddenly the world tilts and he’s stuck staring up at the ceiling. Distantly he registrers the pain in his back, his legs, his feet. He pants for a few seconds, then gets up. The music is still loud. He gets back to spinning, once, twice, thrice. He keeps spinning. He loses sight of his focal point and he’s spinning freely. Everything disappears. The world is a blurry thing in the distance and he is floating.

He yells when he connects hard with the floor. His hand caught under his body and his shoulder screaming from the sudden weight. He breathes into the floor. There’s no dust here, cleaned everyday and used regularly, but there might as well be. He coughs, can’t get air into his lungs and he coughs until he chokes. He puts his hands across his face, feels the wetness there. Oh, he’s crying. He lets the tears trace down his face, mingling with the sweat. He wonders why he’s crying. The music changes again. Something slow and soft. It’s not a song he picked for this playlist. Maybe North has been messing with his phone again. He closes his eyes. It almost doesn’t make a difference. It’s dark in the room, dark in his head.

After a while, the whirling thoughts in his head quiet down. His breathing evens out. He draws in a calm breath. Lets the music into his chest. He might drift off for a few moments. Thinks about the homophobic slurs that guy, Gavin, spat out on Monday. The countless times Connor heard it from old friends, in high school, even from some girls at the dance academy. The flirting women at the resort who just assume that he would be interested and give him no chance to let them know who he really is.

And now Hank. Hank, who told Gavin off. Hank, who helped Chloe. Hank, who dances at gay clubs and nowhere else. He thinks of Hank's soft kisses yesterday.

When he opens his eyes again, he’s calm. Or maybe it's numbness.

***

_I hate to turn up out of the blue, uninvited  
_ _But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it  
_ _I had hoped you'd see my face  
_ _And that you'd be reminded that for me, it isn't over  
_ _Never mind, I'll find someone like you  
_ _I wish nothing but the best for you, too  
_ _Don't forget me," I beg  
_ _I remember you said  
_ _Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts~_

North makes an entrance by slamming the door to the studio open. Connor jumps from his position splayed on the floor, quickly drying his eyes. How long has he been lying here?

"I take it the date didn't go well?" North asks, tilting her head. “Adele, really?” Her head is upside down from Connor's point of view. "How long have you been moping here?"

Connor grunts and weakly gets up. He's exhausted and thirsty.

"I don't wanna talk about it," he mutters and somehow North knows.

"Oh, Connor, Mr Anderson is a fucking idiot." She doesn't say anything else, but pulls him up to his feet and embraces him tightly.

"Hey, at least we can let loose some steam tonight? Maybe find a hunk for you? One that isn't repressed and depressed?"

It makes Connor chuckle, and he pushes off her. "Yeah, imagine me only inviting men up on the floor…"

"Why not? Might shock some life into their loins."

"Yeah," Connor laughs, feeling slightly better. 

Then he gets an idea. One that might not make him forget Hank tonight and maybe will jeopardize his position here, but he needs to do _something_. Something to make a statement, something to make them see him. It feels right.

***

SUNDAY **JULY 19TH** , 2020 - PM **01:03** :26

He and North are high on creative juice as they gossip all the way back home. Connor has to fill North in on the conversation he had with Simon yesterday, and North wants to make a bet about who will ask the other out first. They laugh and talk, only to slide open the door to find Nines standing in the kitchen.

“What--” North yells, jumping at the scare. “Who - Oh damn, you must be the brother.” She holds her hand over her chest as if to still her heart. 

Her dramatic reaction doesn’t lessen Connor’s annoyance. He should have seen this coming; it’s too typical of his brother. North walks past him to the fridge, muttering, “Like a freaking clone.”

“You refused to talk to me on the phone, so I came here to talk to you in person,” Nines answers Connor’s unspoken question. “You honestly can’t be surprised.”

Is he really going to have this talk? 

No. No, he’s not. Connor stalks out of the kitchen and locks himself in the bathroom, sits down on the edge of the bathtub and holds his hands over his ears. _Not listening, la-la-la…_

It’s not really Nines’ fault, the reluctance Connor feels. Nines has always been protective of his brother, blunt in a way that not most people appreciate. When Connor told his parents that he wouldn’t keep practicing medicine but had saved up money to join Wayne State university’s dance program, Nines backed him up even though their parents were livid. 

Even when he dropped out in his second year because he discovered ballroom dances and fell in love with the social, coordinated style, Nines didn’t judge him too hard. His parents never understood him, anyway.

The fact that Connor is complacent in being a dance teacher, in doing evening classes for beginners, is however something that Nines will never understand. 

“ _I’ve seen you dance. You are exceptional. How can you not use your talent? You could compete on a professional level!”_

When Connor stopped dancing for six months because his partner became jealous and put an ultimatum on him, Nines refused to speak to him unless he broke it off with the guy. This was obviously not a good way to convince Connor of breaking it off, and they ended up not talking for a year, until Connor was single and dancing again. Even now, it pisses him off to think about, despite evidence pointing to the fact that Nines had been right.

Connor stops breathing for a second, waiting for Nines to yell and bang on the door. It’s surprisingly quiet, even with his ears covered. Somehow he feels stupid now and he’s about to get up from the tub when the lock shifts and Nines opens the bathroom door, looking disappointed.

“Seriously?” Connor says, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“I sent your friend away. And we are going to talk,” Nines says in a tone that means he will not take a no for an answer. “I made tea and bought croissants for us. Take a shower, put some clean clothes on.” He says croissants with a poncy French accent and Connor hates it.

They’re sitting in the living room, Nines’ back straight as an arrow. Connor is huddled on the other side of the couch. He sips his tea, waiting for Nines to say something, anything, but really, he’s waiting in vain because he knows that Nines won’t say a thing until Connor starts. 

He blows on his tea, gathers himself to explain how he got himself into trouble with Todd, almost got his teeth kicked in. That he doesn’t know what he’s doing, and he feels so alone now that his friends are occupied by their respective crushes. That he’s sad he hasn’t kept in touch with Nines or their parents, who he wishes would just call him of their own volition.

“I had sex with the sergeant,” he says instead. Nines’ eyes widen.

“You what?”

“I had sex with the sergeant who arrested Kara’s dad, okay?” Connor spits out defensively, pulling the hood over his face in mortification. “It was a stupid mistake, I know, so please don’t lecture me on it.”

“I wouldn’t,” Nines assures him, still apparently in shock. “Just to clarify, do you mean that it’s a mistake because he’s a police officer?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know,” Connor stammers. He thinks of Hank’s heated words in the studio. 

“Is he in the closet?” Nines asks.

“I don’t know, maybe,” Connor mutters. Then he thinks back to the first time he met him, when he handled officer Reed’s rude comments without even flinching. He wasn’t scared to dance at the gay club. So why did it bother him so much now? 

_Maybe he only danced with you because he was drunk and wanted a quick, discreet lay._

“I think one second he likes me, then in the next it’s as if he’s embarrassed to be seen around me,” Connor sniffs, because now tears are spilling down his cheeks. Treacherous body. His brother looks angry, or as angry as a guy like him could look. He has a tendency to keep a neutral face on at all times. The only sign giving him away now is a small wrinkle between his brows.

“Connor,” Nines begins, but Connor waves him off and walks into the kitchen to find paper towels. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says, stopping to blow his nose when he finds what he’s looking for, “I know how, how fucked up it is. Don’t need any lectures.” He wipes his nose, dries his cheeks with the back of his hand. 

“No, Cricket, Sweetheart, I mean. Just come here,” Nines tries, looking so awkward as he reaches out for Connor that he wants to laugh. Connor complies, not admitting to how much he just needs his brother to hold him and pet his head. They’re quiet except for Connor’s sniffs and occasional sobs. Nines strokes his back the way he used to when they were kids and Connor couldn’t stop crying.

“It’s his loss if he doesn’t get how amazing you are, Cricket. I just hope he gets his head out of his ass,” Nines says when Connor has calmed down.

It’s way past noon. Connor and North are supposed to get ready for tonight, now that they have to find new clothes to wear for their big number. He’s not quite ready to let go of Nines just yet, though. He puts his head into Nines’ chest and mumbles:

“Wanna watch Dirty dancing?”

He hears Nines chuckle, “Yeah, ‘course.”

***

SUNDAY **JULY 19TH** , 2020 - PM **04:48** :36

“What kind of a loser has a kid when he can barely pay his own bills?” Gavin sneers once they step into the viewing room, his own movement clunky from the wound at his side. “and a fucking dealer at that. He’s like a walking junkie stereotype.”

Hank doesn’t answer, doesn’t feel like talking much at all. He’s still thinking about Connor.

“Hey asshole, you gonna ignore me all day?” 

“Hm?” Hank says, mostly to irk his partner even more. 

“Fuck you, Hank.”

Todd Williams is sitting still in the room, sweating and shaking, red eyes darting everywhere. Hank would feel for him, except for the fact that he has endangered his children’s lives again and again. It’s difficult to treat him like he would any suspect, when he knows that this man has two children, alive and well, and treats them like shit. Or well, Hank has dealt with far more gruesome crimes, but this criminal hurt Connor as well.

“So, what happened to you and tall, dark and handsome?” Gavin questions, sounding way too casual about it. It could be a polite inquiry, except that it’s Gavin and nothing about him can be considered ‘polite’. 

“What’s it to you?” Hank simply asks, because he is not having this conversation with Gavin, of all people. "You're gonna sling some offensive language at me again? Why don't you call me a queer and be done with it, you cocksucker."

Gavin doesn’t let up.

“Look, it just seemed like you were halfway onto each other’s laps the other day, and now you look like he shot your puppy.”

Damn him. 

“That’s none of your fucking business, Gavin.” He hopes that will put an end to the discussion, that they will focus on getting a confession out of their suspect. Gavin, however, can't seem to let it go.

“That’s it? You’re not gonna give me any details? Pfff,” he scoffs. “I don’t get it. You get this guy that, even objectively, is a fucking ten outta ten, he eats out of the palm of your hand, and you, what? Just dump him? Shouldn't he be right up your alley, all top hat and YMCA.” The _What the fuck is wrong with you?_ is heavily implied. Hank groans.

“I am not talking to you about my love life, Gavin,” he snorts.

“ _Love life_?” Hank realizes his own mistake and looks over at Gavin, who’s grinning. “So it’s a crush now, wow.” 

Then Hank gives up pretending that they’re not going to do this, because he is tired and sad, because he can barely focus on the case anyway. Because in a few days Connor will begin new classes with hot young guys waiting to get a leg over, and he will forget Hank's sad old ass. 

“It’s not gonna work out, okay?” he snaps. “He’s too young for me anyway. He doesn’t understand what it feels like to be so…” _So sad and worn. So alone and surrounded by hopelessness._

“Really?” Gavin scoffs. “Because from what I heard it just sounded like he wanted you to wine and dine him.” 

“Hey, I don’t get all up in your private life, so back the fuck off.” He huffs, now feeling his cheeks warm from embarrassment. 

Gavin is quiet for a few seconds, mulling it over. He looks over at Hank and the hesitation in his face is so un-Gavin like that it gives Hank pause. Why won’t he go back to being his regular, homophobic asshole self?

“You’re fucking thick, old man, if you don’t mind me saying,” Gavin says with a smirk, not sounding the least apologetic.

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Hank snarls, getting more and more impatient.

 _That you’re a grumpy middle-aged cop that never talks about feelings, and you’re trying to woo a gay man in a decidedly feminine and queer profession._ _By actively refusing to dance with him in public_. 

"I'm just saying, you used to be more fun back when you only played fuckin' Salsa hour on patrol."

With that, Gavin pushes himself off gingerly from where he’s leaning on the wall,and hissing and grabbing at his bandage, opens the door to the office. “I’m getting some coffee, black right?”

He leaves Hank standing there, staring at William’s face but not seeing anything at all.

Did Gavin fucking Reed just give him some life advice?

***

SUNDAY **JULY 19TH** , 2020 - PM **05:23** :14

“ _Hank? Are you all right? Where are you?”_

Hank feels a sting of guilt when he hears Lauren’s voice on the phone, because he knows exactly why she sounds so anxious. This isn’t the first time Hank has called her on a weekend out of the blue, but unlike most times he is sober. They haven’t talked over the phone in almost six months. Last time, Hank was drunk out of his wits, complaining about how cold she was, how easily she moved on. That is the night he got in his car and drove the ten-minute drive to the liquor store and nearly ran someone over. That’s the moment he realized what a fucking piece of shit he had become.

“Hey, Lauren,” he answers after a second’s hesitation. Why did he call her again? “I-uhh…” He scratches his beard, desperate to find something to do with his free hand. The line is quiet, except for Lauren’s short breaths. She’s probably waiting for him to start slurring and yelling at her, the thought searing a burning hole in his chest. He knows what to do, knows she deserves it and that he has to do it if he’s any kind of decent human fucking being. 

“Do you have a minute?” 

There’s noise as Lauren shuffles with her phone, no doubt going into another room than wherever her boyfriend is sitting. After a minute, she answers again.

“ _What’s happened?”_

He does not deserve her kindness, he thinks, and he vaguely hopes that she gets to slam the phone down afterwards and talk shit about her ex to … Bill? Buddy?

“ _Hank?”_

He can do this.

“Look, this is a bit out of the blue, but I wanna…” He lets out a heavy breath. “I wanna apologize. For being a shit husband. And for everything else.” Lauren is quiet. That is not good enough. He has to own up. “It was unfair to accuse you of gettin’ over Cole too quickly, just ‘cause I couldn’t fuckin’ pull myself together long enough to support you.” 

Memories of the months leading to their divorce flood to him. Lauren is quiet.

“ _Should I be worried? Are you carrying your gun?”_

The question makes him chuckle, for some reason. 

“Nah, don’t worry, I’m just sober and the past is slowly catching up to me.”

“ _Has something happened?”_

The idea that he couldn’t possibly call to apologize unless he was either suicidal or drunk annoys him and he almost spits out a snide remark, but he catches himself; he’s calling to make amends.

“We just arrested a man who’s been beating his kid. Poor girl managed to escape with her older sister, but he found them and fucked them both up. They’re safe now, but I just found myself imagining…” He trails off, not really sure why he brings it up, except that it feels important. Lauren gives him a considering hum, the one she reserves for her patients and the few times she would psychoanalyze him during tough cases. “I’m just thinking about what I would do if we had a second chance with him. How a parent can just forget what a gift their child is…” Fuck. He has to stop talking; he closes his eyes to gather his thoughts.

“ _Hank,_ ” Lauren breaks the silence. “ _Do you know how much I resented you for those first months?_ ” It gives him pause. All he remembers is how up in his own shit he was and how Lauren managed to pull herself together. “ _You grieved before I could even accept that he was gone. I was so angry with you for constantly reminding me that I was not feeling anything yet. You tried to coax me into talking and I just shut you out. Then when you needed me the most,”_ and Hank understands she talks about the first time he picked up his gun from the safety box at night, when he began to find comfort in late nights at Jimmy’s, “ _When you really needed your partner, I just fucked off and decided that I was done.”_

“Lauren. You were saving yourself.”

“ _And I was so damn scared to get the call from the hospital, the…_ ”

Great, now both of them are crying. It’s so damn humiliating, and, well, liberating.

“ _I’m sorry, Hank,”_ Lauren sobs and while he thinks she’s not the one who needs to be forgiven, he lets her say it.

“‘S okay, Laur.”

They don’t talk for a minute or so, pausing to blow their noses and dry their eyes. Eventually, Hank decides to lighten the mood. He counts the months to their last talk. 

“How’s the pregnancy, by the way?”

“ _Due date is in two weeks. George is so nervous, first kid and all. He packed the hospital bag three months ago.”_

Hank laughs again and finds he doesn’t begrudge them this. He's not even a little bit jealous of them, even though he briefly wishes he could be in their shoes. He looks back to the moment when he and Lauren were driving to the hospital to deliver Cole, and he thinks he wouldn’t mind that part. That soft baby smell, those precious moments when the baby grips your fingers and squeezes surprisingly tightly. Hank blinks.

“He’s still treating you right?” he has to add, pretend like he somehow has a role in her life and that he will beat George up if he ever hurts her.

“ _He’s being a good husband,_ ” Lauren answers. He can hear the smile in her voice. It’s warm.

“ _So what’s brought upon this?”_

“I’m not sure,” Hank says truthfully. “Been trying to keep away from the bottle for a couple of months and we’ve been thrown into a fucking summer camp. They force us to go to dance classes all day and I’ve barely had time to even go for a swim. I dunno, it’s beginning to feel like I’m…”

He wonders for a moment if he should add that Jeffrey wants him to push for lieutenant again. Connor’s beautiful smile edges into his mind and he feels an ache in his chest, longing.

“Been thinking about… Maybe start an adoption process when I get home.” As he admits it, he feels the heat in his cheeks. Feeling stupid, he adds, “Y’know, if they accept single, alcoholic guys in their forties.”

“ _Mm_ ,” is all Lauren says in answer. 

Hank knows what she’s doing, but he takes the bait anyway.

“I want to have that purpose again. I miss being a father so much, and it still feels goddamn disgusting of me.”

Lauren releases an audible sigh, as if Hank is being particularly slow.

“ _Listen to me closely. No matter what you decide to do about the adoption, you will_ always _be Cole’s father. That’s never gonna change, Hank.”_ Hank’s throat closes up and he can barely catch his breath, eyes squeezed shut so tight it hurts. “ _Having another child means they get to have an amazing father. That’s not gonna make Cole any less of your son._ ”

Hank just sobs quietly, breathing in as if he’s about to drown. Lauren waits. Hank collects himself. Thinks about his darling son. 

“Do you know what really pisses me off?” he starts. “That we’re supposed to have moved on. I _see_ my friends look at me like I’m gonna explode whenever I mention him. It’s like I should forget him. But I just… I just wanna talk about him once in a while? Just remember that time when he was alive and happy.”

His heartbeat slows down.

“ _I know, I feel the same way. Hey, you know what I remembered the other day?”_ Her voice is excited, and Hank feels himself leaning in to hear her bubbly voice again. “ _I was so scared to leave him alone in the first month. Even with the baby monitor and with him in the next room. So you had to sit in the rocking chair next to him with the baby monitor in hand and speak into it.”_

The memory provokes a bright light inside him. He starts laughing through the tears.

“Jesus Christ, my back! And I just kept repeating that he was sleeping until you fell asleep. Fuck,” he snorts. 

It’s a lot funnier now than it was back then. He mentions the time when Cole forgot his stuffed elephant at kindergarten and cried all afternoon until he and Lauren had to call the janitor and ask them to let them in and get it. 

It’s another ten minutes of talking when Hank hears the husband, George, call Lauren. 

“I’m glad you get to start again, Laur. Say hi from me.” 

He remembers Connor again, wonders if he’ll forgive him for being a slow, stubborn idiot. He has got two hours before the show starts.

“ _Thanks. Feels good to talk about our son with someone who knew him.”_

“Yeah.”

“ _Hank? I let you be the father of my first child for a reason. You deserve a second chance.”_

***

SUNDAY **JULY 19TH** , 2020 - PM **07:48** :36

Connor holds his breath, trying to rearrange his thoughts into a coherent line. North is reminding him of how they're going to stand up on stage. She fiddles with the hem of her sleeve, her confident expression plastered on to hide her nerves. The show tonight is pushing the limits of what they are allowed to do with their creative freedom. Maybe Ms Chapman doesn’t care that the guests will be scandalized, but the managers are going to tear their hair out. It has been long since Connor actually had any nerves about a performance. 

"Still time to back out," North grumbles. 

"Time to scrub off all this body glitter?" Connor jokes, but the tension makes his following laughter sound a little unhinged. They stare at each other's outfits. North purses her lips.

"At least Markus and Josh will clap."

"Yeah. Or they'll laugh."

Connor shakes his hands, walking around offstage. This is a terrible idea. Their boss will be pissed at him. The Detroit police will laugh at them and then they will go back to the station and retell the embarrassing performance to Hank. And then he will be relieved to know he dodged a bullet. Connor vaguely wonders if Nines stayed after he left for practice, if he will come to the hotel and get Connor out of there. He rummages through his bag, slung across the back of a chair, and has a moment to panic at the missed calls.

The first three are from Nines, but that's hardly a surprise.

No, what throws him is the missed calls and the _voicemail_ from Hank.

Voicemail. 

Connor reads the name on the screen again. The name. He missed the calls due to the loud music while he and North practiced this afternoon. He excuses himself, which earns him a stressed-out glare from North, locks himself in the bathroom under the guise of a last-minute checkup, and stares at his phone. The palm of his hand is sweaty, and he almost drops it. Is he ready to hear whatever this is? Hank calling to tell him to delete his number and never call again?

Maybe it's a butt-dial. 

Connor takes a shuddering breath and presses the phone to his ear, hugging himself.

_"Hey, Connor."  
_ Shit.  
 _"I was hoping to catch you before your show. And tell you good luck. Fuck, not like you need it. I know you'll be fantastic up there."  
_ Connor's heart bangs against his chest.  
 _“Anyway, I wanted to do this proper but, well this'll have to do for now.  
_ _You’re fucking amazing and a damn good guy.”  
_ The music is too loud. Connor tries to shield his other ear to hear better but it’s too noisy to actually suss out the words.   
_“But I want to-”  
_ More noise cancels out the words. What? _He what?  
_ _“-for you. So uhh… I hope you'll call me back, and if not, well. I get it."_

SUNDAY **JULY 19TH** , 2020 - PM **08:04** :25

“I thought you’d miss out on the last night,” Ben calls, happy surprise clear on his face as Hank drops in. The DPD are gathered at a table by the large windows in the restaurant. Hank is glad they're right by the open doors, his body flashing hot from a mixture of nerves and summer heat. The show is starting, while guests are treated to wine and desserts. Hank wonders if Connor has listened to his voicemail or if he just deleted it off-hand. 

Jesus Christ, he’s being an idiot. Maybe Connor won’t even notice him in the midst of all people. 

He’s still in his work clothes. It’s a bit odd, next to his coworkers who are dressed down in linen and khakis, using the menus to fan themselves.

“Gavin’s not with you?” Chris asks.

“Nah, he couldn’t get outta here fast enough,” Hank laughs. “I’d feel like a shit for bailing out on the last evening here. After all Fowler has done to get us here.” It makes Chris laugh and Hank relaxes a little.

There are lots of speeches, songs and prizes for the kids who have been participating in the competitions all afternoon. As people finish their desserts and start getting ready for the dancefloor, Hank hears the host of the evening announce a dance number performed by their star dancers. Hank’s blood roars in his ears. For one cowardly moment, he debates whether he should just make a run for it through the door. His feet are, however, firmly planted on the floor.

The stage is lit up in all colors of the rainbow and he hears the audience cheering and clapping - Connor and North seem to be favorites. He claps along, stomach swirling.

An elegant shape comes up on stage. Dark blue blazer and slacks, sky-colored braces popping against the white shirt. It takes a moment of fluid moves and a tip of the fedora for Hank to realize that it’s not Connor on stage - but North. Hiding her hair in a braid, she wears the suit like a man. It’s a damn good look on her. There’s more of a modern beat coming from the speakers, a stark contrast to the usual old-school rock songs and Latino music that they play during lessons. Hank stands there, lost in her performance until she stops mid-pose, and introduces…

Hank should have seen this coming, but his jaw drops, nonetheless.

Connor walks on the stage, calm and confident - in a fucking sequin dress, long enough to reach his feet, with a slit that reaches almost all the way up to his hip. It gleams in the stage lights, a beautiful blue that matches North’s colors. He’s wearing heels, too. Is that eyeliner? Fuck, but he looks fan-fucking-tastic. His legs are constantly peeking through as he makes his way to North, swaying his hips in a definitely feminine way. Once the music and the roars of applause from the younger part of the audience calm down, one of the classics comes on.

They’re doing a gender switched salsa. It’s sensual, fiery, bold. North lets Connor drape against her and despite their slight height differences, it works pretty damn well. 

Hank hears some people in the audience mutter, some parents looking like they want to cover their children’s eyes. It’s not racier than what Connor and North have shown before, and it’s still audacious. 

Hank can’t wait to ask him to dance. 

“They’re something, aren’t they,” Ben chuckles, seemingly unperturbed by the show. 

Hank reminds himself that Ben has a son who is currently obsessed with that drag show on tv.

Chloe catches his eye. She’s sitting further away from them, but still by the windows. Two older people sit at her table, no doubt her parents. They are looking scandalized, commenting and subtly pointing at the dancers. He scoffs at them and makes a note to talk to Chloe afterwards, tell her that she shouldn’t ever listen to what homophobes have to say. 

The show comes to a close with thunderous applause. Connor and North bow to the audience, grinning happily, clutching each other’s hands, raised in the air. Hank catches his breath and joins in the cheering. 

The pair disappears backstage and Hank tries to wait patiently. He drinks his lemonade and chats with Ben, leg bouncing restlessly.

***

A little while later, Hank sees North make her way towards Chloe, where her parents are standing up to leave. She is eyeing the dancefloor, longingly, looking so sad. Then she notices North and blushes furiously. North takes off her hat, eyes focused solely on Chloe. They are of similar height when North isn’t wearing heels. 

“C’mon Chloe, let’s go,” her parents urge, waving their hands as North stands in front of them. Chloe looks at her parents, then back to North.

“Chloe! We are not paying for your college so you can spend the summer with these- these deviants!” 

Something lights up in Chloe’s eyes, because she frowns at her parents, standing straighter and quietly muttering something to them. Hank hopes she swears a lot.

North tenses visibly when the parents turn their attention to her, but then she reaches her hand out to Chloe, grinning widely. Chloe looks like she’s ready to melt into her arms. Hank is listening intently, and he’s sure he hears North say,

“Nobody puts Chloe in a corner.” With that, she takes Chloe’s hand and pulls her out on the dance floor. 

The parents are scoffing, humiliated. Chloe looks fucking giddy, bouncing in her steps with that adorable smile on her face. North could do worse, he thinks.

Hank is leaning against the windows and observing the dance floor, catching glimpses of North and Chloe nervously dancing close together. North started off trying to teach her the basic steps of the salsa, but they have now ditched the idea for swaying side to side in the middle of the floor. It's very cute, Hank must admit. He hasn't been paying them much attention because he has been keeping his eye on someone else. The DPD are laughing and jokingly swaying to the music, still in their seats, and Hank finds that he needs to make his move now. Pushing off from the window, he makes one last adjustment and unbuttons just the top buttons of his shirt, hoping it will make the heat go down. 

"Hitting the dancefloor?" Tina calls and Hank winks at her in return before he turns to look for Connor. It's quite easy as his sparkly blue dress practically shines in the disco lights.

He sees the moment that Connor notices him.

Connor is dancing with an older woman, who stops several times to flop his cowlick back out of his face. Connor laughs, spins her.

And then freezes. 

When they lock eyes, it’s almost, _almost,_ like the past day never happened. Connor's mouth opens in recognition, his eyes travelling over Hank. Hank couldn’t stop his grin if he tried, resting his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans. Connor cuts away and Hank clenches his fists. Now or never. He determinedly walks up to Connor.

"Mind if I cut in?" Hank asks when he reaches the pair. 

Connor gapes at him, and it gives Hank the additional boost he needs. Without further ado he offers a hand to him and Connor stammers an excuse to the lady, who takes one look between them and lets go of him with a smile. Hank nods gratefully at her and closes in on Connor. It relaxes him just a little, to know he still has that effect on him just by standing close.

"Really?" Connor scowls, but Hank can see the mirth behind the glare. " _This_ is the moment you choose to dance with me?" He's not backing away, and Hank sees that as a win. 

"Better late than never," he shrugs and pulls him closer, reveling in the sharp inhale from Connor. "Did you get the… the voicemail?" he asks, clearing his throat. 

Connor takes a moment to answer, his eyes seemingly stuck on the top of Hank’s chest. When he does look up, his eyes seem less lost and he smiles.

"I did."

Hank leans closer to Connor's ear, says in a low voice, "I wasn't kidding about what I said. I've been a coward, Connor. And I wanna make that up to you."

That earns him a laugh.

"I was thinking maybe you could ask me out on a date, or, or dance with me in class, not asking me to dance while I'm wearing a dress!"

"Does that give me extra points?"

"I guess it works in your favor," Connor smirks. "You're efficient."

"I never had the patience for the slow burn." He pauses for a beat. “You looked fucking gorgeous, Connor,” he says and doesn’t hide the emotion behind the words. This close, he notices Connor is wearing false lashes and body glitter, too. It should be too much, but damn if it doesn't make Hank hot and bothered to see him like this. “The dress brings out your eyes,” he adds and relishes in the way Connor’s eyes widen.

They’re so close now, he can smell his scent.

Hank decides to pull out all the stops and grabs Connor’s waist close as soon as they find a decent spot to dance. Connor gasps, and it’s quiet, subtle, but Hank hears it. 

“Ever danced Bachata before?” Hank asks, feeling awfully confident for a man who only yesterday thought he was worth shit. 

“I might have looked it up before,” Connor answers coyly and Hank wants to kiss him stupid right here and now.

They pull closer, the way the stance is supposed to be, but it’s Connor pressed against him, Connor’s leg nearly wedged between Hank’s. They almost breathe each other’s air. Hank decides to start leading, and he lets the music carry them. It’s terrifying to dance like this, like he actually knows what he’s doing, like he loves it. And he does. He really does.

Connor looks delighted and it makes his heart stutter. He wants to be closer, closer.

“I’m sorry for pushing you earlier,” Connor eventually says, when the music switches to a faster song and they decide to get into the salsa again. It’s more difficult to talk, but the space between them is also a relief. “It’s... It’s your business whether you want to be out or not. I just… I really like you.” Connor licks his lips, waits for Hank to answer. 

Hank reels at the idea. Like he could ever be ashamed to be seen next to Connor.

“I stopped dancing when my son died,” he hears himself say, and even he is surprised by the words coming out, but he decides to go with it. All in, he reminds himself. “Reminded me too much of a time when I was happy. I just wasn’t ready to let myself feel that yet.”

“Oh,” Connor says, surprised. “That’s not at all what I thought.” 

Hank chuckles, “That was clear, from your reaction. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Connor chews his lip, steps closer to Hank.

“Are you out then? To your colleagues, I mean?” he says, sounding confident, but from this distance Hank can see the anxiety in his eyes.

“What?” he says. “Oh. Well, I think they figured it out by now, anyway.” He looks over Connor’s shoulder, and sees Chris and Tina looking their way, giving enthusiastic thumbs up. He holds Connor closer, spinning them around until Connor can see Hank’s coworker’s cheering. Connor lets out a relieved giggle, and the sound throws Hank off. He finds himself wanting to make Connor do that sound again. Possibly for the rest of his life.

They resume the salsa, Hank remembering a particularly flashy move that he learned back in the day. Used to be a hit with his dates. Connor follows his moves seamlessly, a perfect dance partner, even in those heels. Connor grins, happily surprised that Hank moves so well. _Better hold on,_ Hank thinks, _You ain’t seen nothin’ yet._ Then he spins him in his arms and dips him, Connor’s dress spilling on the floor. Connor lets himself be dropped, trusting Hank implicitly. They stare at each other and Hank ignores his shaking muscles, because Connor is looking at him with those adoring eyes. 

Hank yearns to kiss him. Connor looks like he would welcome it. In a split second he makes a decision and bends down to do it. Connor’s eyes widen, then he smiles and leans his head back, his long throat exposed. Hank admires the long column and leans down, needing to remember as much of this moment as he possibly can. He leans closer and lets his lips softly brush against the warm skin, tracing the freckles. Connor shivers in his arms. The music surrounding them is forgotten and when Hank lifts them up again, they stand pressed together on the dancefloor. The tips of their noses touch.

SUNDAY **JULY 19TH** , 2020 - PM **10:03** :05

Hank can’t believe the night is already coming to an end, but people are leaving and the music is turning to slower, calmer things. He could spend all night, just swaying to the music with Connor here in his arms. Connor is leaning his head on Hank’s shoulder and his arms are resting on his back. 

It feels like a rude interruption of the real world when someone clears their throat and Connor looks up. Hank reluctantly lets him go. It’s Markus, and he’s looking a bit sheepish but still determined.

“Hey, Connor, sorry to interrupt, Sergeant,” he says with a glance to Hank. “I just wanted to remind you of the party tonight at Chloe’s. We’re saying goodbye to Daniel…”

Connor looks like this has completely slipped his mind and looks regretfully at Hank. Hank can feel the disappointment curling in his stomach.

“Right. I’ll catch up to you later, yeah?”

“All right,” Markus says and joins the others outside.

“I’m sorry, it’s his last day and we’re throwing him a party to say goodbye,” Connor says by way of explanation.

“Yeah, of course. You should go with your friends and enjoy the party.”

Connor nods but his smile is slipping. Hank wants to brush his fingers against his lips, make it return.

“It’s fine, Connor. We’ll see each other again.”

Even he doesn’t believe it as he says it and Connor says nothing.

“Stop kissing your boyfriend and get over here for the party of your life,” North screams from a corner and Connor jumps.

“Your friends are calling,” Hank says, a smiling tugging on his lips, and Connor nods reluctantly.

“I’ll walk you out,” Connor says.

Hank didn’t bring anything with him on the way back since he was only staying for the talent show before going back to Detroit. So Connor walks him all the way to his car and stops a few feet away, looking unsure. Hank has left Sumo in the backseat of his car, with the windows cracked open, and he hasn’t moved since Hank dropped a few doggie treats for him to find, tucked between the seats.

“Well, I guess this is goodbye,” Connor says and hugs his arms around him.

Hank is warm in his jacket and he wants to offer it to him but refrains. He walks back to Connor and strokes his arms to warm him up.

“I’ll come visit you. D’you usually have weekends off? Maybe I can drive up to see you?”

Connor bites his lip, “I’d like that.”

Hank’s heart aches and he can’t believe he’s just going to drive away.

“It’s been really good to meet you, Connor,” he says and swallows.

Connor looks like he wants to say something, but he closes his mouth stubbornly and Hank wants to ask him what, wants to kiss him until there are no more questions, no more things to say.

“I’ll see you, Hank,” Connor says, and Hank nods and lets go of Connor and walks to his car.

He unlocks his car and is just about to open the door when he can’t help himself, turns back to look at Connor. Their eyes lock, then Connor runs up to him and Hank opens his arms to catch him and then they’re kissing.

It’s a deep, searing kiss, filled with everything they haven’t managed to say to each other. Connor presses close and Hank holds him to his body. One hand comes up to grab Connor’s head, fingers sliding into his hair and Connor, if possible, gets even closer.

The kiss goes on for a long time but eventually they have to let go. It fades until they’re just pressing their lips together again and again, in never ending sweet touches. When it comes to a stop, they look at each other. Hank kisses Connor’s nose, carefully and Connor smiles and tucks a string of Hank’s hair behind his ear.

“Won’t you come visit me next week?”

“Count on it,” Hank says.

When he drives back to Detroit, following the dark roads in silence, he feels hopeful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---  
> Hank: what’s his name? Bill? Buddy?  
> Lauren: ...  
> Lauren: George.  
> \---
> 
> If you want to see the dress, here’s what we imagined: http://i687.photobucket.com/albums/vv239/charismatico/royalblue-1.jpg
> 
> Guys, we're almost at the very end and you can finally relax! Tell us what you think? :D


	9. Monday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS, we are finally at the finish line! We can hardly believe it! It's such a bittersweet feeling- We've been immersed in this universe for the good part of three months. We hope you have loved and hated and screamed at them as much as we have. Now, on to the very last chapter of a Wet Hot Michigan Summer!

SUNDAY **JULY 19TH** , 2020 - PM **11:33** :45

The incredible high that Connor was on during the dance show is slowly simmering out of him, now that he knows there’s not going to be a grumpy, handsome police sergeant smiling at him from across the room. Even if said sergeant has promised he will come visit next week.

If he’s honest, he would rather sit in Hank’s car, crowded in the backseat with Sumo, instead of bathing his exhausted feet in the pool of Chloe’s parents’ summer house. He should be excited. He should be dancing with North or take body shots with Josh and Daniel. 

Letting the beer bottle rest in his hand, he leans back on his other hand, observing North and Chloe from a distance. They’re talking, North being uncharacteristically careful. Chloe looks equally shy, but there is comfort in the fact that they aren’t in a rush. Chloe will be staying for another five weeks, and North is not known for patience anyway. 

His heart aches. Seven more days. 

He finds Markus in the kitchen, helping Josh and Daniel popping the cork of a bottle of cheap champagne. The cork pops up hitting the ceiling and they all cheer. Markus sees Connor approaching and beams. He pulls him into a heartfelt hug, squeezing tightly enough to make Connor expel all the air in his lungs.

“Guess who just got his foot out of his ass?” Josh laughs, and it’s difficult to be cranky about his own lack of love life when he sees his best friend look so sappy and… well, in love.

“Oh my God,” Connor gasps exaggeratedly. “I thought it would take you all summer! So I take it he said yes?”

“YES!” Markus yells in excitement, then, noticing Connor flinch back in surprise, repeats it in a whisper, although still not very quietly. “Or, technically, I said yes.”

Connor stops, stares for a second and then bursts out laughing. 

“How drunk are you?” Connor asks when Markus holds up his finger and thumb in measurement, increasing the distance between them. “Is he here?” 

Markus shakes his head. “But I just invited him. He told me he’d only come if I was here.” 

Connor gives him a saccharine smile, “Aw,” and quickly ducks away from Markus’, admittedly uncoordinated, hit.

Connor finds North in the chaos, talking to Chloe. She’s smiling more genuinely than Connor has ever seen her and he’s happy for her. He’s just about to turn around and leave them alone when Chloe catches sight of him and waves him over.

“Connor!” she squeals and gives him a hug, standing up on her tiptoes to reach him. “You were absolutely amazing out there.” She gives his shirt a slightly disappointed look and Connor blushes. “No more dress?”

“I didn’t feel like sucking my stomach in the rest of the night,” he jokes, scratching his head in embarrassment.

“It was gorgeous anyways,” Chloe says. “You’ll excuse me, I have to use the ladies’,” she says and disappears and with a radiant smile to North she skips away.

Connor watches her go and then turns to North who’s still looking after Chloe with a besotted face. 

“Going well for you, too?” Connor inquires. 

She is not slurring or staggering like the others, holding a plastic cup filled with water in her hand.

“Eh, ‘s getting there,” she smiles. Chloe is caught on her way, stopping to talk to Josh by the pool. She glances over at them, and she is definitely blushing. “She just came out to her parents,” North says, giving Connor an indecipherable look. “I’m trying to keep an eye on her. She’s laughing and smiling like the fucking angel she is but I’m not sure she understands what this is going to mean, later. She’s so strong, y’know? But it’s still pretty fucking bold to come out and then give them the proverbial finger and dance with…” she trails off. “I don’t think I deserve someone like her.”

Connor shakes his head, disagreeing. He can’t think of anyone more deserving of happiness than North. She doesn’t appear to be paying attention, though. Her gaze is fixed on Chloe and she’s smiling unconsciously.

“What about you, Mr Teacher?” she asks suddenly, turning back to him, teasing. 

“I… I think we’re-” Connor stumbles and has to catch himself against the pillar. “I think we’re good.” 

He is not so sure, though. North eyes him.

“He didn’t stay for the night?”

“No, they’re… They’re going home. He should be halfway back by now.”

They stand there, next to each other. North looks contemplating, then turns to him, face still watching their friends from the other side of the pool.

“You know….” she says, as if considering the possibility, swirling the contents in her cup, “All of us are at this party. Even Markus.”

“Yeah,” Connor mutters, because now he’s thinking about Hank and where he lives and what his house looks like, and where he keeps the dog bed for Sumo. North sighs.

“The night is still young. I promised to stay over to help Chloe with cleanup before her parents get back. And Josh and Markus said they’re going into town later, but they’ll probably come back and crash here. If I tell them that they should.” She gives him a meaningful look.

Connor does not quite understand what she is insinuating. He arches a brow at her, and she groans, biting out the last part.

“I mean that if you were to go home early--” she says, “You’d be all alone in that house. _All night_.”

Connor gapes at her. She is a damn genius. 

“I can’t just, just, call--”

“You won’t know until you’ve asked,” North counters and claps his shoulder. “Good night, Connor.”

***

Connor bites his lower lip, fumbling clumsily with his jacket as he crashes out the front door of Chloe’s house. He pulls his phone out of his back pocket, unlocks the screen and hurriedly hits the phone number he wants. Feeling his foot tapping against the ground, he stands in place, waiting for the signal. It takes three rings before he hears the voice that turns his spine into goo.

“Connor?” Hank asks. 

The canned sound tells Connor that he’s still driving. Suddenly his bravery seeps out. He finds his voice, eventually.

“Hi, it’s me, Connor,” he says, before realizing that Hank already knows, already has his number saved on his phone. “I- um,” he wonders if he’s got his phone on speaker. “Are-are you alone?”

“Besides Sumo? Yeah,” Hank chuckles, but Connor hears the tension in the laugh. “Having fun at the shindig?”

“No, actually it’s pretty boring,” Connor sighs, hoping to catch his attention. “Thought I’d go back to the house. But my friends aren’t coming home until tomorrow, so I’ll be alone.” 

Hank lets out a loud breath, “Yeah, ‘s nice to be alone and relax sometimes.”

Connor bites his lip. “Um, y-, no, I mean, sure, but I was actually thinking I would like some company…”

Connor can hear Hank’s breath through the phone. It sounds a bit heavier than normal.

“I’m sure your friends will be back soon. And it’s late, you’ll fall asleep before you know it.”

Connor lowers the phone to stare at it for a second. Is he being an idiot? Should he give this up? Hank is sending him some clear signals here, and maybe Connor’s just too stupid to pick them up. He’s being let down easy.

“You’re right,” Connor says, downtrodden. “Well, I shouldn’t talk to you while you’re driving so I’ll hang up now, go to bed. But text me when you get home, will you?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Hank agrees, his voice warm.

Connor’s heart flutters a little.

“Okay, bye.”

“Yeah, bye, Connor.”

He hangs up. He puts his phone in his pocket.

“Okay, you’re fine and this is fine. It was a silly thought and you’re tired anyway,” he says sternly to himself.

He straightens out the lapels of his jacket and begins walking back to the house.

He has walked only a few steps when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He nearly drops it when he fumbles to get it out and almost sends a busy signal before he manages to answer and bring it to his ear.

“Hello?” he says, breathless.

“Hi, Connor. This is Hank, the guy from dance class,” Hank says, and the smirk is audible in his voice.

Connor chokes a bit, “Yeah, Hank, hi, I know who you are.”

Hank chuckles, and shivers of pleasure run up Connor’s back. The sound is so close. When the laughter dies down there is an awkward silence that replaces it.

“What did you-” Connor begins at the same time as Hank says, “When you said you-”.

They both pause and laugh uncomfortably.

“You first,” Connor says.

Hank clears his throat a little. “I, uh, I just wanted to check… When you called earlier…”

“Yeah?”

“Did you- did you mean for me to come back?” Hank says and he sounds so unsure Connor wants to take him in his arms and wrap him up in a hug.

He also feels his blush almost burn through his skin.

“Uh, I mean, yeah? If you wanted to?” Connor says.

There is silence on the line and Connor bites his lip. He buries one of his toes in the sand. Why isn’t he saying anything? 

Just when he’s about to speak, something like ‘never mind, I’ll see you, bye’ and never call again, Hank says:

“You saying you need company?” he asks, huskily. Connor’s heart rate picks up, he feels his palms sweating.

“I am,” Connor says, boldly, feeling his blush crawl down his chest. 

Hank growls.

“And why would I need to come all the way back to the resort?” Hank asks in a low voice, but his voice is lilted with cheek and Connor tries to suppress a grin.

“If you were to forget your keys, or your wallet, and I happened to have picked them up this evening? And you had to drive back to get them?”

A beat of silence.

“Be there in an hour.”

Connor swears he has butterflies in his stomach.

MONDAY **JULY 20TH** , 2020 - AM **00:05** :33

Once he hangs up, he jogs back to the lake house, desperate to have the time to clean up in the kitchen, make his couch look nicer. 

He comes home and the house looks terrible. 

He turns on the lights, starts to shove the boxes from Markus’ couscous duty and loaves of bread into the pantries, barely managing to get the cupboard closed, a precarious bulge betraying its overstuffed state. He does all the dishes, and calls it a good job, until he smells his shirt and notices both the beer stains and the smell of sweat under his armpits. Not subtle, musky sweat, but that disgusting, mid-puberty, smelly sweat. 

He looks at the time. He called Hank forty-five minutes ago. He could be here any moment, depending on how far he had come when Connor called, and how fast he’s driving back. 

Connor panics, changes his shirt and quickly washes his pits, spraying deodorant generously, and then slaps on some cologne. He worries that he should switch underwear, then scolds himself for just assuming he’s going to get laid tonight. 

He pauses, stares at himself in the mirror for a second. Then, who is he kidding? He’s definitely getting laid tonight. He smirks at himself.

Then he pauses. Getting laid means some other preparations are in order. Despairingly he considers his toiletries. He looks at himself in the mirror again. A blush is covering his cheeks. He steels himself, picks up his phone and calls Markus.

“Yeah, hello?” Markus picks up on the fourteenth ring.

“Markus, do you have any lube?” he says without preamble and enjoys the slight choking that comes over from the other end of the line.

“That why you had to leave early?” Markus eventually manages. “You so desperate to jack off you had to blow off the last party of the week?” Connor can’t decide if he’s offended or relieved that Markus assumes he’ll be using it alone. “I mean I know we all live pretty packed, with no personal space and-” apparently coming to a conclusion mid-ramble, he pauses and then says, “It’s in the drawer of my nightstand. Knock yourself out.”

“Thanks,” Connor rushes out and hangs up, not bothering listening to Markus’ final words.

He opens the door to Markus and North's room, still feeling like a burglar as he slinks inside. He walks up to the nightstand, opens the drawer, and there, amidst pens, receipts, a book, a phone charger, is that a freaking vibrator, two pens, a couple of batteries, band aids and a flashlight, is the bottle of lube. He snatches it up, along with two condoms, and dashes out.

He quickly brushes his teeth, practicing a couple of different smiles, ranging from sultry to pure goofy, all of them foamy.

Then looks down and notices the dirty sink and panics again.

He’s halfway through a fast scrub down of the bathroom sink when he sees the screen of his phone light up. He quickly grabs it, stares at the text.

 _outside_.

How did he not hear the car engine?

He throws on his dance academy hoodie and drags his fingers through his hair one last time. Then he opens the door and stops.

Hank’s face is intense, and Connor wants to melt into those sharp blue eyes. Before Connor has time to say anything Hank’ hands are on him and they’re kissing, roughly, desperately. Connor feels large hands caressing his neck, the sides of his face, dragging through his hair. He makes a pleased hum, getting a thrill from the drag of fingers on his scalp. Connor keeps a firm hold on Hank’s jacket, drags him through the hallway to the living room, winds his arms around Hank’s neck, pulls him as close as is physically possible. 

“Connor…” Hank mumbles, unable to pull away from the kisses, “Connor, _fuck.”_

Connor is tingling all over; somehow he is still not close enough, despite their bodies being pressed tightly together. One of Connor’s legs hitches up against Hank’s waist and the man grabs it in support and reaches down to grasp Connor’s other leg to pull it up and wrap it around him. Connor obliges happily, squeezing his legs around Hank. Closer, closer, closer. Connor is burning up. It’s too much of every dirty fantasy he has ever had coming to life. He’s afraid he might combust. 

He pulls on Hank’s hair, deepens the kiss. Hank grunts in approval, squeezes Connor’s legs. They stumble backwards, closer to the couch, the goal, but suddenly the world tilts as Hank loses his balance. He swears and they’re falling down in a clumsy heap right next to the couch. They both grunt in aroused confusion, letting go of each other to acknowledge that they’re both sitting on their asses, having missed the seat by inches. Then Sumo lumbers in, panting and greets Connor with slobbering kisses.

Something cracks in Connor then.

He leans his head back, barely able to keep Sumo off him, and laughs hysterically. Somehow he can’t seem to stop and Hank asks him if he’s all right. Connor tries to nod in the affirmative, but laughter is in the way. Hank seems to understand and opts to laugh along with him. 

Connor pats Sumo happily, putting his face in his thick fur. Sumo allows it for a moment, then huffs and walks off to collapse in the kitchen where the floor tiles are cool and nice for him. Connor’s stomach hurts from the strain of laughing, and he puts his palm over his poor abs. 

He sits up a little straighter and locks eyes with Hank. The laughter simmers down and they end up just looking at each other. Hank’s eyes are so blue, so warm when they meet Connor’s. Then his hands come up to Connor’s waist where they settle, like two warm anchors, over his hoodie.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t have time to wash up before you arrived,” Connor apologizes, but Hank waves off the apology. 

“Please, you’ve been on your fucking feet for the entire day and night. You don’t have to doll yourself up for little old me.”

“Unless…” Connor trails off, leaning back to vaguely gesture towards the porch door, its windows hinting at the moonlit gleam of the lake. He lets his eyes linger, “...you would like to go for a swim outside?” 

He looks back and is pleased to see Hank’s flushed face. Good to know he can render him just as flustered as Hank does him.

“Connor, we don’t have to--”

“We don’t have to do anything, no,” Connor agrees, then stands up, hands fiddling with the sleeves of his hoodie. “But I am asking you if you want to join me.” 

He observes the conflict in Hank’s mind unfold on his face. He wonders what holds him back, other than it’s in the middle of the night and no one will hear them if they happen to drown. Hank eventually sighs, slowly gets up from the floor and Connor enthusiastically pulls off his hoodie, which grants him a good, penetrating look from Hank. He must be able to see the way his pulse beats against his throat. 

“Fuck.” 

Hank strokes Connor’s torso with his palms, staring in wonder, and Connor practically melts into the touch. But when he reaches for Hank’s jacket and button-up shirt, Hank hesitates and backs away from Connor’s hands.

“Changed your mind?” Connor asks, stopping, even though he’d rather just rip his shirt off, have the buttons fly everywhere. He suspects he knows why Hank is pulling away.

“No, it’s…” Hank sighs, drags a hand across his face.

“Hank, do you not want me to see you naked?” Connor asks, because he doesn’t want to tiptoe around the subject. It throws Hank off, he can tell. “Because I can’t think of anything I want more than to see you shirtless.” 

It makes Hank breathe out a nervous half-laugh, which causes Connor to grin. 

“You sure about that?” Hank asks. “I’m not exactly young, buff and sexy anymore.” 

“I disagree,” Connor counters, getting annoyed now. “I find you very attractive.” 

He thinks if he stares hard enough at him, Hank’s going to get it and he will finally take off his shirt. Hank eyes him and Connor thinks he’ll just have to live without knowing for a while longer, but as if in defiance of his own insecurities, Hank hastily starts unbuttoning his shirt, fixed stare on Connor. He shakes it off and begins to peel off his undershirt, and Connor feels the thrill of excitement grow in his lower abdomen at the first peek of stomach and dark curls. Then he stops. Disappointed, Connor drags his eyes from Hank’s soft belly to look into a face that is… insecure? Perhaps even shy. Or ashamed? It doesn’t matter, because at least Connor knows it’s not from lack of want.

It’s completely bonkers, because how could anyone not find his broad frame, his strong arms and wide shoulders, his soft, big belly attractive?

Slowly, Connor brings his hands to rest on Hank’s, uncurling them from the fabric of the undershirt. He leans forward to catch Hank’s lips against his own. Moves his hands beneath the shirt, feeling the body hair, the warm skin against his palms. Gently, he pulls Hank’s undershirt off, peppering light kisses over his face, on his soft beard, over his eyelids. Hank sighs, bending his head down for Connor to reach him easier and his breathing slows. Connor’s hand stays over his heart for a moment, then he looks down to see Hank’s upper body. He has to calm himself; he takes a slow breath. 

“Okay?” Connor asks, his hands on the belt of Hank’s jeans. 

Eyes closed, Hank breathes through his nose, leans forward against him. He nods, reaches for Connor’s chinos. His belt buckle clinks as the end tip of his belt is slid out of the frame. They both watch as the pants slide down his legs, and Connor swallows thickly when he sees the big bulge in the boxers. He lets his hands fall to the thick thighs, fingers tracing the skin and tickling over the hairs there.

“Connor, shit,” Hank says, and he has closed his eyes.

That won’t do, Connor thinks and bends forward to kiss one of his nipples. He relishes in the small spasm that pulls over Hanks’ chest.

“Touch me,” Connor says against Hank’s skin.

He moans when Hank’s hands immediately come up to his hips. One hand slides back to Connor’s buttock, squeezing and Connor bites his lip against a whine. The other hand is trailing up his side, almost tickling. His own hands are sliding up and down the backside of Hank’s thighs, over his ass and up his back. He has such a broad back.

Connor sucks in a breath when Hank slips his fingers into the hem of Connor’s briefs. A small kiss lands on his forehead, a question and Connor nods eagerly. Hank slides the briefs off and Connor wiggles them down his legs.

“Damn,” Hank mumbles and Connor looks up to see him staring at Connor, pupils blown wide and a tongue coming out to lick his lips.

Connor preens under the attention, but he needs more. He lets one of his own hands trail over his own stomach, his thighs and relishes in the heavy breathing coming from Hank.

“I need your hands on me,” Connor says and steps closer.

Hank swallows, “Yeah.”

His hands when they land on Connor again feel like they’re on fire, his skin aflame wherever Hank touches him. And it seems to be everywhere. Hank’s hands stroke across his back, over his ass, down his thigh, sliding up the inside and out again, barely a prelude to the touches to come. Connor whimpers when one of Hank’s fingers barely grazes his balls. 

“There, you’re all right,” Hank mumbles into his temple. “You’re so beautiful, Connor.”

Connor tries to keep his legs from turning to jelly but it’s a losing battle. His hands are on Hank’s shoulders, not in a sexy way but in an iron-grip to keep from melting into the floor. One of Hank’s hands is on Connor’s hip, steadying him. The fingers there are stroking across his sweaty skin in a maddening pattern, coming closer to his center where he’s burning hot.

“Hank,” he moans when Hank places a kiss against his throat, right over his pulse.

“Yeah, come’ere,” Hank murmurs between kisses.

With fumbling steps, they back up to the couch and finally, finally collapse into it. Hank first and Connor in his lap, straddling him. His knees are on either side of Hank’s thighs and Hank’s hands are immediately landing on Connor’s legs, stroking with warm hands. 

Connor doesn’t sit down but remains standing on his knees; it places him above Hank and the unusual height advantage is exhilarating. He places his hands on Hank’s shoulders and leans into his body. His chest is right in front of Hank’s face who takes the chance to lick one of Connor’s nipples. His breath hiccups. Hank looks up quickly and, probably seeing Connor’s blush, goes back to nip the sensitive nub. Connor keens and presses closer.

Hank’s hands gently guide him down to sit in Hank's lap, and shuddering, Connor sinks down. Their cocks are just barely grazing each other but it’s enough for Connor to let out a small whimper and Hank breathes out a great guffaw into Connor’s throat.

“Connor, Con,” Hank mumbles.

Connor, who has desperately tried to stop himself from thinking too much about that cock, shudders. His mouth salivates, and suddenly he needs Hank’s mouth, so he surges forward until their mouths crash together. Hank’s mouth is warm, his tongue sliding to meet Connor’s and they moan together.

Connor rocks forward, his cock erect and brushing against Hank’s cock and into his stomach. He can’t stifle the moaning coming in an endless loop from his lips.

When Hank’s hand comes up to grip their cocks in a loose fist, attempting to rub them together, Connor forgets himself and enjoys the friction. Hank’s other hand is on his back, his ass, guiding him into the motion.

“Goddamn, you’re so hot, Connor,” Hank says into his mouth.

“H-hank,” Connor whines, rocking faster.

Connor lets go with one hand from Hank’s shoulder to come down and join Hank’s where he’s expertly stroking them together, sweeping his thumb over the heads in intermittent moves. Hank hums approvingly when Connor adds his hand to mix.

“D’you wanna come like this?” Hank asks and suddenly Connor remembers his plans.

“No, wait,” he gasps and Hank groans when Connor leans back. “I have-” 

He leans off Hank’s lap, digging through the cushions for that damn bottle, the little packet of condoms. He makes a noise of victory when he finally locates them and holds them up.

Hank swallows.

“You come prepared, huh?” he says, voice thick.

Connor smiles, ignores the fact that he did in fact not come prepared. Hank doesn’t need to know where these came from.

He opens the condom and rolls it onto Hank’s dick. It’s so wide, Connor has a moment of worry he won’t be able to get down on it.

“What’re you thinking?” Hank asks, although going by the husky voice and dark eyes, it seems he has a guess or two.

“I wanna ride you,” Connor says.

Hank’s hands tighten around his hips, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Connor answers confidently.

Then he flips open the cap and squirts out a liberal amount of lube on his fingers and brings them behind himself.

Hank groans loudly and puts one hand around his own dick, apparently to keep from coming too soon and the other to stroke comfortingly over Connor’s back.

“You’re going to kill me,” Hank croaks and Connor preens.

Then he has to concentrate as he teases his hole with his index finger, trying not to drop too much of the lube into Hank’s lap. He’s tense. It’s been a while. He leans into Hank’s warm hand, soaking up the heat Hank seems to be emanating underneath him. Finally, he teases a finger inside, just slipping in and back out again. He sucks in a gulp of air. It’s really been a while.

“Shh,” Hank hushes, seems to catch on to the fact and lets go of his dick to stroke first Connor’s thigh then up his throat. “You’re okay,” he mumbles and a thumb strokes across Connor’s cheek. “You’re so beautiful.”

Connor closes his eyes, listening to Hank’s deep voice murmuring soft reassurances. Something settles inside Connor and he relaxes. When he opens his eyes again, Hank is looking at him with blue, gentle eyes. When he sees Connor relax, he smiles and something in Connor eases further. 

He finally gets his finger into his hole, letting it slide further in before going back, creating a small motion of in and out. Hank catches sight of the movement going on behind Connor and his eyes become dark again. 

“Fuck, Connor,” he says in a low voice and Connor shivers. The hand on his back comes down to hold his ass, so close to where Connor’s is doing the preparation, they almost touch. “Yeah, loosen up for me,” Hank mumbles and Connor resists the urge of going too fast.

He keeps a steady pace of in and out, adding more lube as he goes along. He yelps when Hank’s hand strokes his perineum, lightly teasing at his balls, and loses his rhythm.

“Hank,” he says, not sure if it’s a complaint or a command to keep going.

Hank kisses his throat in apology anyway, and trails his finger back up to the crack where Connor is working. He teases with his finger around Connor’s and Connor realizes, not exactly for the first time but in a different visceral way, that Hank’s fingers are much larger than his. The thought is enough to make him squeeze around his lone finger and choke out an incoherent plea.

“You’re doing so well, Connor, baby,” Hank says, licking a stripe up his throat to his ear and Connor makes a small _hnn_ noise. ”So beautiful, so good.”

Connor listens to the litany of praise coming out of Hank’s mouth, being kissed and licked directly into his skin. It’s almost too much. He finally presses in another finger and forces himself to calm down when his body tenses up.

Hank, apparently following his progress by reading his body and feeling with his fingers, groans loudly. His teeth to Connor’s throat is a surprise and he hiccups slightly when he feels the hard edge of them to his sensitive skin.

“Keep going,” Hank breathes into his throat.

“Y- yeah,” Connor mutters, his throat sore and he didn’t realize he was making so much noise all this time.

He lightly scissors his fingers and the heat in his hole is finally starting to feel good and not just intrusive. He tries to push a little deeper, listening to Hank’s breathing, matching up to his own panting. Hank leans away to grab the bottle and Connor accepts the cool liquid to his fingers and goes back in. The cold is like a shock to his system but soon enough it’s warm again. He adds a third finger and increases his pace.

He jumps a little when a big hand wraps around his dick. Hank shushes him quietly and Connor looks down. He has flagged a little but with Hank’s attention things are perking up quickly. He tries not to be embarrassed, looks up into the ceiling as he keeps pushing his fingers further into himself. Hank doesn’t seem to mind, though, still whispering sweet nothings into his ear, his voice deep, his chest reverberating against Connor’s.

“Uh, h-Hank,” Connor pants out and Hank lifts his face from sucking a deep mark into Connor’s collarbone.

“Yeah, baby?”

Connor keens at the nickname. It sounds both filthy and sweet coming from Hank. He pushes even deeper into himself and finally hits something he has been searching for. He moans loudly and Hank tenses underneath him.

“Uh, mm, help me out?” Connor asks and Hank doesn't have to be asked twice.

He adds more lube to his fingers and comes up to join Connor. His and Hank’s fingers are too much, though, so Connor slips out, feeling empty for a second before Hank’s large index finger enters him instead.

He whines loudly as Hank slides deeper all at once. His head falls back and his tongue lolls out as he adjusts.

“Fuck,” he hears Hank mutter underneath him. “This okay?”

“Yeah, more,” Connor manages and then almost screams when Hank obliges and adds another finger.

Immediately he’s so full. He stops breathing and just focuses on the feeling of stretching inside him. He flexes a little, trying to get closer to Hank, and it causes his muscles to contract and he and Hank moan in unison at the feeling.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Hank says, astonished but also a little worried.

“H- y-ea-ah, it’s fine. Just ne-ehd to ss-tretch a-ah little,” Connor tries to reassure, voice coming out more breath than words.

Hank growls and scissors his fingers before sliding deeper. Connor keens. He didn’t know there was more of Hank’s fingers to go. When Hank adds a third finger, he feels like he might explode. He’s not entirely sure from what, but something needs to happen.

“Please touch me, Hank,” he croaks and Hank’s other hand which was busy alternating between caressing Connor’s thigh and gripping his own cock, comes up to gently stroke Connor’s neglected dick.

Connor whines loudly and Hank quickly swallows the sound in a filthy kiss, drowning him in lips and tongue and warm breath. Connor is not sure it helps because he keeps making sounds.

“Ha-ank,” he gets out and Hank pauses, relaxes back a little, the movement behind Connor never ceasing. “P-please, f-fuck me,” Connor chokes out.

“Yeah, Con, yeah,” Hank says and gently eases his fingers out despite Connor’s vocal protests. “Need to get these out so I can get in you,” Hank says, amused, although his voice is gruff.

Connor allows this. He follows Hank’s guiding hands up on his knees again, watches avidly as Hank grips himself and positions right underneath Connor.

“All right, go slow,” Hank says and Connor nods, not paying attention. He’s too busy swallowing back his drool. “Slow,” Hank reminds and guides Connor down.

Connor sinks down, stops when he feels the head touch his ass. Hank repositions a little and Connor sucks in air like it’s going out of style when the thick end touches the entrance to his hole. 

Like he hasn’t prepared at all, his sphincter contracts. Hank shushes at him again, and he realizes the small high-pitched noise is coming from him. He relaxes and lets the head press into him. It’s a second of complete silence as Hank agonizingly slowly lets Connor drop increment by increment down on his dick.

When the head gets past the first ring of muscle, they both breathe out. Connor adjusts a little, feels the stretch, the intrusion, and wants more. He puts a hand around Hank’s cock, ignores the small yelp coming from Hank, and strokes gently up and down.

“There’s, uh, there’s no need for that,” Hank croaks out and removes Connor’s hand. “Here,” he says and puts Connor’s hands back on Hank’s own shoulders, “Use me for support.”

He still has an iron grip on Connor’s hips, but Connor’s legs are stronger than Hank’s arms, so he takes control of his weight and sinks down another inch.

They moan loudly and Hank swears.

“You’re doing so good,” Hank says, voice completely punched out.

Connor smiles wickedly and sinks down further. He enjoys the stretch, the preparation making itself known. He’s loose and welcomes Hank inside. He is perhaps a little braver than he should be, and sits down almost all the way.

“Slowly!” Hank yelps.

Connor stops because Hank has reached further into him than their fingers could reach. He breathes heavily, trying to adjust. He hums a little, feeling how it feels, squeezing a little and almost jumps when Hank squeezes his ass unexpectedly.

“You’re going to kill me,” he moans below Connor. “I’m going to die.”

Connor chuckles. He rises a little again and sinks back down, ignoring his protesting thighs. The friction is amazing. Hank seems to agree, so he does it again.

“Mmm, yeah,” he hums and starts a small rhythm going. Short small strokes, up and down again. Hank helps by holding him up.

“Feel good?” Hank asks and Connor thinks that should be obvious, but he moans to reassure him.

Hank takes this for the affirmation it is and grips him a little tighter, guiding him down a little faster. He slides down Hank further than before and all air is punched from his lungs when another inch enters him.

“Hh-hannk,” he tries and Hank growls, guiding him up and down again.

Apparently there’s even more of Hank and with Hank adding to their ride, Connor slides down further on each down thrust. Incoherent mewls are coming from his throat and he has no say over it. He tenses on his way up, and lets his body weight carry him down.

“You’re so fucking big,” he says without any air and Hank chuckles.

Then his hips come up to meet Connor’s down thrust and the entire length of Hank enters Connor. Hank makes a loud garbled sound and Connor whines. It’s a lot.

When they resume their pace, Hank keeps thrusting up into Connor as Connor rides him, slamming back down and lifting back up. The slide is unbearably hot, and each time Hank bottoms out he touches the spot in Connor that makes him wail in pleasure.

Hank’s hands on his hips are so hard Connor is sure he’ll leave bruises and the thought makes Connor euphoric. He wants Hank’s mark on him, his kisses on his neck and throat, his fingers on his hips and waist. He wishes they could fuck bare, and the thought of Hank’s spunk in his ass makes something snap in his chest.

“Hank!” he wails and slams down as hard as he can.

“Con-nor, baby,” Hank says and keeps fucking up into him. “I’m so close.” His hand wraps around Connor’s dick and the second he touches him, Connor comes, spurting across Hank’s hand and stomach and up to his chest.

Hank keeps stroking him and Connor keeps riding although his entire body has turned to jelly. He squeezes around Hank’s cock, wishing to feel it even closer. His dick has become sensitive and he can feel tears in his eyes from Hank’s continued touch.

“Hank,” he moans and finally collapses onto Hank’s chest.

Hank grunts in effort as he keeps thrusting into Connor’s limp body. Connor licks his shoulder and tastes the sweat on his skin, squeezes his ass for Hank to fuck and relishes the labored breaths being panted into his hair. Hank lets go of Connor’s dick to wrap around his waist for better leverage as he bodily lifts Connor and drags him back down. Connor marvels at his strength and his dick twitches in furious arousal but there’s no way he’s getting hard again this fast.

“So, fucking, good,” Hank pants, each word emphasized with a thrust.

“Hank,” Connor mumbles into his ear and presses down as hard as he can at the same time as he squeezes.

Hank roars as he comes, and Connor swears he can feel the pulses of his dick in his ass. 

“Yeah,” Hank murmurs with what little voice he has left.

They stay like that, panting into each other. They’re hot and sweaty from the exertion and the temperature is still high in the room and outside. Connor notices vaguely they forgot to close the door. He’s not worried though, no one will be home until morning and there is nobody living close enough to hear anything.

He languidly strokes his hand through Hank’s sweaty hair, earning an appreciative hum.

“You okay?” Hank asks and Connor chuckles helplessly.

“Yeah, I’m great.”

Hank smiles into his skin, places a small kiss there.

“Good.”

“You?” Connor asks, thinking of muscle strain and the fact that Hank is not exactly young. He lets his hand trail over Hank’s side, close to the curve of his back and Hank snorts.

“Leave a man with a little pride,” he says with a smile. “I didn’t throw out my back or anything.”

“Good,” repeats Connor, “Just making sure you’re not damaged for next time.”

Hank wheezes out a laugh and Connor smiles cheekily when Hank looks up to study his face.

“I won’t be going again tonight, kid,” Hank says regretfully, and Connor places a kiss on his nose.

“I think I’m good for now, too,” Connor admits.

Hank frowns and wipes away a tear from the corner of Connor’s eye.

“Did I hurt you?”

Connor blushes. “Only in the best way,” he reassures and rests his head on Hank’s shoulder, enjoying Hank’s warm hands petting him. His skin is turning chilly despite the heat as his sweat cools. “I liked it.”

Hank hums, not entirely convinced, but he lets it go.

Silence stretches between them again as they bask in each other’s presence. 

“Damn, we forgot to take that swim in the water,” Hank murmurs and he does not sound disappointed in the least. Connor can’t stop smiling into the crook of Hank’s neck. His beard scratches Connor’s forehead. He smells so good. “God, I thought I was gonna pop a joint there at the end,” Hank admits belatedly. “You’ve ruined me,” he says, pressing a kiss at Connor’s hairline. Connor sighs, blissfully.

“Not too late yet.”

“Hmm?” Hank asks.

“To take a swim.”

***

The lake is completely still, the surface smooth like a mirror. There are lamp posts alongside the paths around the lake, and they are faintly lighting up the beach. Josh and Markus have made sure they have a path lit up from the house down to the water, knowing full well how often they get the idea to go swimming in the evenings. 

Connor is nervous, even though it’s darker outside and therefore more difficult to distinguish the curves of their bodies.

He doesn’t hesitate, just walks into the water, having thrown off the bathrobe in the grass. He wonders if Hank is staring right now, and he is just about to turn around when he feels the press of Hank’s belly up against his back. Hank’s hands come up to Connor’s arms, squeezing them gently before slowly rubbing up and down. His hands are so warm but the water they’re standing in is so cold and the dichotomy is doing things to Connor.

He turns around, wraps his arms around Hank, relishes the feeling of Hank’s arms coming around Connor, too. He presses a kiss to Hank’s lips, short and sweet. Hank smiles against him, deepening the kiss until it’s hot and wet and everything Connor wants. Hank’s body is warm against him and he starts feeling hot himself.

“Swim with me?” he says against Hank’s lips.

Hank hums in agreement but doesn’t stop kissing him. Connor smiles. He starts back out into the water, Hank following him as if in a trance. They keep kissing as the water starts lapping at their chests.

“Why did we think this was a good idea, again?” Hank murmurs against his skin and Connor shivers.

“We were filthy,” Connor says.

“And?”

“It’s summer,” Conner offers.

“And?” Hank insists, a smile teasing on his lips and Connor laughs before letting go and letting the water take him.

The cold over his head is a shock and he stands back up, breaking the surface with a gasp. Hank stares at him with large eyes.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he says, something like awe in his voice.

“You keep saying,” Connor says and winks but he’s pleased. Hank doesn’t let him joke it away and keeps looking at him like Connor is something precious. A hot, tight thing in Connor's chest gives out a pulse. He’s flustered and breaks their gaze. “Come on,” he taunts him and dips back under, the shockingly cold water helps him regain some calm. He counts to ten under the surface, watching the world through a lens of water and darkness. 

When he comes back up, Hank is giving him serious consideration. Then he gives in and sinks underneath the water, too. He comes up quickly, shaking the water from his face, spraying Connor with the loose droplets cascading from his hair. Connor shrieks and swims backwards to get away. Hank notices and gives chase.

“Noo!” Connor yelps when Hank’s arms wrap around his legs, trapping him.

Hank laughs, holding him tighter against Connor’s futile attempts to wriggle free. Connor waves his arms furiously to avoid sinking all the while laughing hysterically. Hank seems to notice his struggles, because he hauls him in until he has Connor around the waist instead. Connor keeps laughing even as Hank wraps him in a hug and places a kiss on his mouth, so Hank gives up and goes down to his chin, throat, behind his ear and down on his shoulder.

Eventually Connor stops laughing and enjoys Hank’s kisses instead. He wraps his legs around Hank’s waist, their bodies weightless in the water. Hank greedily pulls his body closer.

It’s too cold in the water to do anything and neither is really up for anything more so they just kiss, the lapping of the water against their bodies the only sounds accompanying their breathing. 

As the heat from their activities slowly leaches from them in the lake, they decide to get up. They’re shuddering as they jog back up to the lake house. Connor closes the door this time and turns to the living room to hunt for towels. He finds two and brings them back to Hank, wrapping one around himself. They chuckle as they stand there, drying off, cold and dripping.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” Connor says, because he can’t feel his toes.

“Do that. I’m gonna get Sumo something to eat and drink.

“There’re bowls in the cabinets; take anything except the yellow ones or Markus’ll kill you,” Connor offers and disappears down the hall to the bathroom.

Under the spray of blessedly hot water, lost in thought, he hears a small crash and his heart stops. He shuts the water off and worriedly calls out, “Hank?”

“It’s fine!” Hank calls out.

Connor waits a little, but no more information is forthcoming. He considers the shower but decides he won’t be able to relax now, so he washes off the last of the shampoo and steps out, a billowing of steam following him out. He dries off, feeling much warmer. Connor contemplates putting on briefs but decides against it, puts the towel up to dry and goes back into the kitchen. 

Sumo is lying on the floor by his new (light blue) bowls, apparently already finished eating and grieving the lack of sympathy for his empty bowl. Hank is lying in Connor’s makeshift bed, apparently having figured out how to pull the couch into its bed configuration. Connor pauses to just look at him for a second. He’s wearing nothing but his boxers, splayed out comfortably on the bed, taking up almost the entire space. He has one arm stretched out to the side, and Connor thinks he’ll fit right into that spot. In his other hand he’s holding a book, apparently deep in the story.

“You all right?” Connor asks as he comes fully into the room and Hank jumps a little and turns to him, dropping the book on the floor.

Connor feels a blush on his face when Hank’s gaze drops down his body, tracing over his chest and down his legs and back up again, a lazy smile spreading across his face.

“Yep,” Hank says warmly. “C’mere.”

Connor doesn’t need to be told twice. He walks over and lets himself be pulled down by Hank- He was right: he fits perfectly into Hank’s side, he thinks as he snuggles up. Hank’s arm comes around his shoulder and pulls him closer. He’s warm and smells so good. Connor pulls in a deep breath and feels himself settle into this moment.

The moment is perfect, Connor thinks and lets himself drift a little. He feels safe in Hank’s strong embrace, listening to him breathe.

“Didn’t know you liked detective stories,” Hank says, voice a rumble against Connor’s back. Connor freezes.

“What?” he croaks out and Hank chuckles, breath whuffing in Connor’s hair.

“I found your little collection,” Hank explains, and Connor wants to die, right now, this very second.

“Shut up,” he moans into the sheets and ignores Hank when he tries to drag him back up, instead diving deeper into the mattress.

“It’s cute,” Hank says, and that is so much worse. Connor moans pathetically. “It does make me wonder,” Hank continues in a casual voice.

“What?” Connor forces out.

“Whether you finding me attractive is just ‘cause of some fantasy for you.”

Connor stills. Slowly he turns around to face Hank, heart pounding. Hank looks uncertain and he’s not meeting Connor’s eyes.

“What?” Connor asks, unable, unwilling, to understand.

“You know,” Hank says, waving a bit offhandedly. “I would understand that at least. How someone like you would want to be with me, if it was just-” He doesn’t finish the sentence and Connor is grateful, not sure if he could stand to hear the words coming from his mouth. It appears he isn’t done though. “And when you left the other day, after we- uh,” Hank clears his throat. “Well, it sort of made sense.”

“I like detective stories,” Connor states evenly. “That has nothing to do with my interest in you. I like you because you’re kind and try to do what’s right. Because you stood up to Reed when he was being a jerk, because you can dance but too stubborn to show it. Because you’re handsome even though you don’t believe it.” 

Connor is split between anger and embarrassment. Hank is looking a little red, too. Connor wants to leave it at that, but he knows he can’t. He forces out the next words, because it shouldn’t ever have been in doubt, but apparently not talking about things have led to more misunderstandings than he thought.

“I’m sorry about leaving,” he says, throat tight. “I was stupid but I was so nervous and you kept saying we shouldn’t and so when you took that phone call right after, I sort of thought you had just done it out of pity and I couldn’t bear that. I’m sorry.”

Hank stares at him for a long moment, his eyes so blue.

“God, we’ve been so stupid, haven’t we?” he sighs, finally breaking their connection by closing his eyes, as if utterly exhausted.

“Kinda,” Connor says, a weak smile struggling. “But at least we figured it out. For what it’s worth, I think you’re incredible and I wish I had stayed.

“All right, you can stop with the flattery now. I believe you,” Hank mutters.

“You better,” Connor growls. “Because you’re so fucking amazing and you’re the only one who doesn’t see it.”

Hank still doesn’t look like he believes it. Connor thinks it’s something they’ll have to work on.

“So, that why you like me? Because of my humble self and because I’m not an asshole?” Hank asks, as if to make sure.

“Yes,” Connor confirms. “And because of your wide shoulders and big hands,” he says and enjoys Hank going even redder. He leans closer. “This beard is also pretty charming,” he says and lands a small kiss next to Hank’s mouth. “And your eyes,” he whispers, “they’re beautiful.” He places another kiss on Hank’s cheek, trails his lips up to his ears and whispers, with relish, “and because of your enormous _cock_.”

Hank gasps and then collapses into laughter and Connor joins him, feeling joy surging like a tornado in his chest. He can’t believe how this stupid man doesn’t see his own value, but Connor counts himself lucky for getting to know him.

He meets Hank’s kisses with pleasure, moaning into his mouth. It’s so hot and so good. He enjoys it as Hank strokes his back and down to his ass, slipping in with a finger to see if he’s still open. Connor can’t help but let a weak whimper slip past his lips.

The second time is slower. They’re face to face and Connor gets to see every second of pleasure on Hank’s face. When they climax it’s with a stuttering and a shared kiss and words between them that they can’t yet speak. Connor holds onto Hank and kisses them into his skin instead. 

***

Snuggled up with the most gorgeous man Hank has ever met, he wonders if he died and went to heaven. Connor smells so good and Hank has his nose buried in his hair, pulling deep breaths of the woody smell.

“I’m starving!” Connor suddenly bursts out, waking Hank up from almost falling asleep. Connor groans. “I haven’t eaten in twelve hours or something. Sorry, but I just have to--”

Hank places a hand on Connor’s chest.

“Let me,” he says, forcing himself up on his feet, despite his body aching all over. Never one to walk around in the nude, he pulls on underwear and the shirt he wore to the dance.

“I’m sorry,” Connor mumbles. “I just can’t sleep on an empty stomach.” 

It makes Hank chuckle, once again taken by how adorable Connor can be. He rummages through the cupboards, more carefully this time, finds a loaf of bread in the fridge for some reason. 

“Hey, when did you buy the cheese? It looks pretty--” he turns around and finds, to no one’s surprise, Connor fast asleep on the couch, arms and legs splayed all over the mattress like an octopus. Hank closes the fridge, turns off the light in the kitchen and walks over to the couch. He lies down next to Connor, scooting close to his back. The back of Connor’s head is still wet from the shower. Hank kisses his shoulder, closes his eyes. The sound of Connor’s light snores lulls him to sleep.

***

MONDAY **JULY 20TH** , 2020 - AM **07:13** :19

Connor slowly comes to when an annoying buzzing sounds from somewhere in the room. He ignores it at first, his eyes shut tight. It’s way too bright in the room and it hurts his head because he completely forgot to pull the curtains shut last night. The buzzing doesn’t let up - even when the caller hangs up, they call back and the same incessant noise makes Connor’s head pound even worse. His brain is thick and confused, and the throbbing in his backside is making itself known. Surprising if he will even be able to walk to the hotel today. He vaguely remembers putting his phone next to himself before falling asleep and concludes that it’s Hank’s. He clumsily starts to shove Hank’s shoulder and arm slung across his chest. At this point it feels like they just fell asleep, though they must have been out of it for at least a couple of hours. It’s like he hasn’t slept in two weeks.

“Hank,” he croaks when the man doesn’t respond. “Y’phone.” 

Hank grunts and buries his face into Connor’s neck for a second, as if refusing to wake up, but then he rolls off of him, all the while groaning about something Connor doesn’t care to listen in on. He can hear Hank looking for his jacket that’s thrown on the floor. 

“Fuh-loor…” he mutters into the pillow. Hank grunts again and Connor guesses he found his jacket, turning it inside out before he seems to find the damn phone. Connor hears Hank answer the phone and quietly open the door. He is a second away from falling asleep again, but of course he has to pee now.

***

“ _Hank, where the hell have you been_?” Jeffrey swears when Hank picks up the phone. He tiptoes out of the house, quietly sliding the glass door shut. Birds are singing, the water sloshing. “ _I’ve been calling you all morning! What’s going on_?”

Hank stifles a yawn. 

“Sorry, Jeffrey. Been busy,” he answers. Busy indeed. A garbled noise comes from the other line and he suspects Jeffrey just groaned into his hands. 

“ _Do you know how scared I’ve been? Jesus fuck, Hank, don’t do that again!”_

Hank doesn’t quite understand what’s gotten Jeffrey so worked up, until the events of the weekend catches up to him and he is reminded of the poor girls. Right.

“I’m fine Jeffrey, don’t worry,” he assures him, still squinting from the morning sun. “I mean it, ‘m not drunk or anything, just uh… Forgot my wallet at the hotel and figured I’d stay for the last night.”

The line is quiet. He can practically hear the wheels in Jeffrey’s head turning. Then he groans, yet again.

“ _This is why you’ve been so damn busy all week?”_

“Well, not exactly. I-” Hank begins.

“ _Just don’t tell me it’s the witness,”_ Jeffrey pleads.

“All right, it’s not the witness,” Hank quips and Jeffrey just makes another of his pained noises. “Look, I’m coming back as soon as things are… Sorted here. Don’t worry.”

“ _Hank…_ ” Jeffrey sighs. “ _You sure you’re okay_?”

Hank thinks for a second.

“Yeah, I’m fantastic.”

They hang up, after he promises to text once he’s back on the road, and he stands there, for a moment or two. The sun seems exceptionally bright this morning. Perhaps that’s due to his lack of sleep.

When he goes back inside, he’s met by Connor stepping out of the bathroom, Hank’s oversized sweatshirt on him. He seems barely awake, eyes squinting at Hank as he shuffles over to the door, where Hank is standing. Hank hears a displeased moan coming from where Connor has buried his face in his chest. 

“‘s too sunny,” he complains and Hank huffs.

“Let’s go back to bed, yeah?”

***

MONDAY **JULY 20TH** , 2020 - AM **09:02** :18

The next time Connor wakes up, it’s his own phone ringing. He looks at the caller ID. North. She is probably at work. Not thinking too much about it he rejects the call and thumps his face back into the pillow. Hank grunts at the sudden shift in the bed and sleepily pulls Connor closer to his chest. Connor wriggles in Hank’s arms, pressing his backside against him, as if he could get any closer.

They don’t get much of a slow morning after that, because the next time North calls and Connor looks up to turn off the phone, he stares right into her eyes on the other side of the door, phone pressed against her ear. Frustrated that he is getting interrupted again, and only slowly gaining consciousness, Connor picks up the phone.

“... Why?” is all he manages because he’s still so darn tired and not quite remembering last night. It hurts his head. 

North steps into the living room gingerly, giving Connor a once-over. Her eyes travel up to Hank, she wiggles her eyebrows at Connor and makes a ring of her index finger and thumb. She mouths the word “nice”.

An excited “boof” comes from the direction of the kitchen. Sumo is waking up, tail wagging and tongue lolling out. North recoils at the sudden sight of a giant St Bernard in her home, then crouches down to greet him.

North sighs. “Connor, I’ve been texting and calling you for an hour,” she whispers from her squat, still managing to sound very disapproving in between cooing at the big dog.

“I was busy,” he whines in response. Hank is stirring, but other than that doesn’t respond. Connor would laugh at his choice of words, but he’s too upset with North for waking him up.

“I would have warned you if you’d bothered to pick up your phone, you lazy bum.”

“Warned… warned about what?” Connor asks, frowning.

In an instant, he hears the front door slam open and he starts, sitting half up in his bed. The voices of Josh and Markus chattering makes him groan. They’re having the morning after brunch _here_?

He falls back, letting out a small “ouff” upon impact when they come into the living room, North sliding the door open and greeting them. She has coffee from the restaurant in one of those big thermoses and Connor can almost forgive her then for ruining what was going to be a romantic morning.

Then he remembers that he and Hank are not yet official, that Hank up until now has been one of his and North’s students. He also recognizes that the condom from last night is lying at the top of the bin. He groans again. He will never live this down.

Markus and Josh come inside, complaining about how loud North is being and holding the pizza cartons like they’re made by God himself. It’s mandatory after a night out, Connor knows. He spares a glance at Hank’s broad frame. He is blinking awake, no doubt disturbed by the ruckus. He sits himself up, touching his shirt as if making sure it’s still on. Connor strokes his arm in comfort when he sees the barely concealed panic in Hank’s eyes.

“We stole some ice cream from the kitchen!” Josh pipes up, opening the freezer. Markus drops the pizza cartons on the coffee table and does a double take when he sees Hank next to Connor in what undoubtedly is a bed completely ruined by absolutely fantastic sex. 

There is a moment when Markus just stares, and Connor has plenty of time to panic. North, too, is still, waiting for a reaction. Then time resumes when Markus grins like a maniac and Connor blushes furiously, hiding his face in his hands.

“I see why you called me last night,” Markus says conspiratorially. Connor makes a face that says, _Don’t, please don’t say it._ Thankfully, Markus only grins wider and wiggles his eyebrows at him and focuses on Hank. “Didn’t think we’d see you here of all places, Sergeant.”

Connor watches in fascination as Hank blushes. It’s adorable.

“Will you lazy turds help me with the mugs?” North says irritably and shoves a couple of said mugs into Josh’s hands. He scrambles to catch them. 

“Jesus, just put them on the table!” Josh complains.

“We’re sitting outside. It’s warm, it’s summer and I’m gonna have to be shut inside a dance studio with terrible air conditioning for six days.” Her look doesn’t allow for argument and she shoves him and Markus out the door. She grabs the coffee thermoses and a roll of paper towels, with which she salutes Connor and Hank, before walking out the door. “Meet you outside in a couple of minutes,” she calls back to them, and it’s half a warning.

Connor sighs, mortified, and thumps back down on the mattress. He hears Hank breathing in short stretches. Then Connor starts to giggle.

“This is ridiculous,” he wheezes, and Hank agrees. “That’s not the way I thought this morning would go.” Hank kisses his shoulder, smiles into his skin. He feels goosebumps spreading across his back and neck. 

“Eh, can’t complain,” Hank murmurs. “I thought I was gonna spend it alone with my snoring dog. This is a hundred times better.” Connor enjoys hearing those words. Then he snickers,

“I’m a hundred times better than your dog?”

“Just don’t tell him I said that,” Hank chuckles. They end up making out on the bed, getting more and more heated until North yells at them to wrap it up. They let go of each other reluctantly, laughing a little as they get dressed.

“So…” Hank says, looking inquisitively over at Connor. “Should I just slip out now that they’re busy?”

Connor feels a thread of panic.

“No!” he yells, then, “No, please stay,” more calmly. “I want you to meet my friends.”

“You sure they’ll approve of your choices?”

“My choices?” Connor asks, puzzled.

“Dating an old fart like me?”

Connor can’t understand how Hank can see himself like this, and not like the handsome, kind man that he is. 

“I happen to like old farts,” he says and lightly pinches Hank’s side. Hank yelps indignantly, but warms up when Connor comes in for a bit of snuggle.

“Can’t imagine why,” Hank says, and then they walk out to meet Connor’s friends.

When they reach the pier they’re greeted by loud whoops and cheers. Josh is shouting with his hands cupping into a mock trumpet. Markus fist pumps energetically.

They sit down on the deck, Connor letting his tired feet dip into the water. North snorts when she notices Connor’s bowl of Greek yoghurt topped with honey and red berries. 

“Seriously? That’s not allowed during hangover brunch!” she scolds him. 

Connor brings the bowl close to his chest and hisses. North sticks out her tongue. 

Hank gratefully accepts a slice of greasy pizza.

“That’s what I tried to tell him,” he says, and shoves a mouthful into his mouth. 

“So, where’s Chloe?” Connor asks, ready to switch the focus from him. “Weren’t you with her last night?”

North frowns. “She got into a fight with her parents. They were not keen on her dancing yesterday.”

“Hope she handed it to them,” Hank mutters and Connor looks at him. “No one should have to put up with homophobic bullshit like that.” Connor needs to ask him about that some time.

The gang eats in silence for a few minutes. It’s peaceful, quiet. Hank keeps pushing his hair out of his face, until North passes him a hair tie. Connor’s breath hitches slightly and he covers it up with a cough when he sees Hank tying his hair up. Hank notices his stare and his lips twitch into a pleased smirk.

By the time they’re finished and ready to go back inside for a much-needed nap, Simon shows up on the path through the trees. He winks demurely and grins when Markus can’t keep his cool and jogs up to him. They only talk, but Connor can tell that it’s only a matter of time before they’re official.

“It’s unfair,” Josh complains as Markus and Simon take a walk along the lake. “Y’all have your partners here and I have to travel for hours to fricking Cleveland to see mine.”

“Oh, your boyfriend lives in Cleveland?” Hank asks, and Connor hides a snort of laughter. Josh sighs.

“Nah man, I’m straight.”

“Oh,” Hank simply says, surprised. “I just assumed…”

“Yeah, everybody does,” Josh says with dry amusement. 

“Right,” Hank nods awkwardly. Connor thinks he hears him mutter, “I’ll just go… fondle my sweaters then.” 

“Huh?”

“I said I was gonna fondue with cheddar,” Hank chuckles at his own response. Josh snorts in response. Connor blinks. 

“I don’t think we have a fondue,” he states, confused. “Or cheddar.”

This somehow makes Hank laugh out loud. 

***

MONDAY **JULY 20TH** , 2020 - PM **12:14** :03

Sumo eagerly hops into the backseat and Hank carefully shuts the door. He turns to Connor once more and can’t believe how lucky he is, and how stupid he is for leaving him. He walks up to him and presses a kiss to his temple. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” he says into Connor’s hair. 

Connor’s arms wrap around his waist, gripping him tightly. 

“We’ll see each other soon,” Connor says, but he sounds sad. 

Hank tilts Connor’s chin up with his index finger. His eyes are shiny and wet. 

“Blink and you’ll miss it,” Hank promises and presses a sweet kiss against Connor’s soft lips. 

“Call me when you get back.”

“You’ll be in the middle of the opening ceremony.”

“I’ll call you tonight, then.”

“It’s a date,” Hank smiles and his heart skips a beat when Connor grins goofily at him. 

They kiss a few times more, then Hank walks over to open the door to the driver’s seat. He stops before getting in and turns back to give Connor another kiss.

Even the bittersweet sensation of longing is fantastic, he thinks as he travels down the highway back into the city. To know that someone misses him, wants him, sends his heart aflutter.

***  
***

**EPILOGUE**

SUNDAY **SEPTEMBER 27TH** , 2020 - AM **10:54** :36 

Connor waves to some of the guests leaving the hotel. Some of them have been his students for several weeks, and he can honestly say that he’s going to miss them. His duffle bag is slung across his shoulder, heavy and unwieldy.

“Another summer gone, huh?” North says, sitting on the grass next to him. She’s leaning her head backwards, taking in the sun. Connor pulls his cap lower. He already has enough freckles for this summer. 

“So, where are you and Chloe heading tomorrow?” 

North looks up through squinted eyes. 

“We might go on a road trip round Lake Michigan,” she says, smiling serenely. “Should be another week or so before I get back to Detroit.”

“Lucky you,” Connor says. Chloe is waiting for North at the lake house. They have both been so eager to catch a minute alone with each other, Connor knows. They’ve waited long enough. 

“Markus, you lazy bum!” they hear Josh call from the parking lot. He is packing his old buggy, throwing out the bags for the third time, trying to make them fit in the trunk. Markus stands next to the car, texting, unconcerned with Josh’s struggles. “You can text your boyfriend later!”

Connor laughs.

“I better go help out,” he says with a wink at North. He adjusts the grip on the strap of his bag and walks over to the car. Josh glares at his bag when he approaches.

“What are you doing with that?” he asks. 

Connor is dumbfounded for a second.

“... Helping you load the car?”

Josh looks at Connor, then at the bag, then at Markus, with an increasingly pinched expression.

“Markus, you didn’t tell him?”

Markus finally puts his phone away. 

“Tell me what?” Connor prompts. Markus scratches the back of his neck, awkward.

“Listen, we overestimated the amount of space in Josh’s car. You won’t fit.”

“We rode up together!” 

“We had less bags then!”

Connor scoffs indignantly, “You can’t be serious! I haven’t made any other arrangements.”

Josh tilts his head.

“What about your boyfriend?”

Connor flinches.

“He’s working this weekend. I told you that.”

Josh raises his hands in defense.

Then Simon walks up to them and stops to give Markus a sweet kiss on the cheek. Connor looks away, wishing Hank was here. Josh gestures for Simon to give him his bag and with that, Connor gasps, now understanding dawning on him.

“Less bags!?” he yells. 

Josh, who stands next to him, jumps at the sudden sound. Simon smiles apologetically.

“Sorry, I couldn’t fit my stuff in a smaller bag.” Connor looks at him, confused. “Are you not coming with us?” Simon asks and gets an elbow in his side from Markus, who gestures with his hand across his throat in a, _cut it_ motion. It silences him and he walks over to Josh, a sheepish look on his face.

Connor glares at Markus, crossing his arms and waits for an explanation. Markus checks his phone again. 

“Listen, I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you earlier, but it’s kind of a last-minute change.”

“Yeah, no shit!” Connor explodes. “What do you suggest I do now? Hitchhike?”

“No! For God’s sake, no,” Markus says. He puts his arm around Connor’s shoulders and walks him away from the car. Connor wants to shove him off, getting more anxious by the minute. Will he have to call Hank after work and wait here for five hours? He knows how tired Hank usually is after such long shifts, and the thought of having to make that phone call is excruciating.

Then Markus mutters, “You know, maybe you should just… wait here for a little while.” Connor turns to him, incredulous. 

“Excuse me?”

“See if anyone shows up?” Markus tries and Connor glares. “Someone you can ride with?”

Markus keeps pressing. He’s obviously insinuating something, and Connor narrows his eyes. 

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” he spits. 

“Isn’t it just?” Markus says, voice reaching higher pitch than Connor has ever heard before. Then he sighs, puts both of his hands on Connor’s shoulders. “Connor. Listen. We’re friends, right? Won’t you just trust me on this?”

Connor battles with his feelings. Markus is his oldest friend, and this isn’t like him at all. Eventually, he huffs and decides to give Markus the benefit of the doubt. 

He nods once, curtly.

“See you in Detroit,” Markus says, hugs him and walks away.

Connor watches him go, feeling conflicted. North comes up beside him.

“Left behind?” she smirks.

“Any chance I can hitch a ride with you?” Connor says, only half-joking.

“Pff!” North laughs and claps him on the shoulder. “Fat chance.”

Connor deflates and fiddles with the coin in his pocket. He’s trying to prevent panic from rising in his chest.

“Besides,” North continues, “I wouldn’t wanna steal you away from your chauffeur.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Connor asks and North smirks at him. 

“You’re surprisingly dim when you’re stressed, Connor,” she says with a smirk, and with that she waves goodbye. “Don’t forget to call me next week!” 

Connor stands rooted in the spot, throwing out his hands in a, _what the fuck_ motion. He stares at her back, glaring daggers. Then he feels the phone buzz in his hand. He looks down on the incoming text, not grasping what it says.

“ _Those shorts should be illegal.”_

Connor reads it three times and looks down at his shorts. They are riding up a bit, true, but they’re so comfortable that he can’t bring himself to throw them away. Then he registers the sender. His heart rate picks up, working double time. Too afraid to let himself hope, he slowly raises his head towards the parking lot.

And there he is. Leaning against the hood of his car, Hank is there waiting for him. He looks stunning in the afternoon light, aviator sunglasses concealing his beautiful eyes. Connor longs to take the glasses off and get lost in that gaze. 

At first Connor can’t make his legs work, then Hank uncrosses his arms and he can’t stop himself. The duffel bag is forgotten on the ground when he runs up to Hank, throws himself at him and lets himself be spun around on the spot, feeling giddy. It’s ridiculous, corny as hell... And fucking perfect.

“You ready, babe?” Hank murmurs when he sets him down, face still buried in the crook of Connor’s neck. Connor breathes in the familiar scent of Hank. He sighs deeply, content to simply stand there, wrapped in Hank’s arms. 

“I missed you,” he mumbles into Hank’s uniform. Hank’s grip on him tightens.

“Missed you too,” he hears. His breath tickles Connor’s ear. “Were you surprised?”

“Kind of, but I was also ready to kill Markus, so maybe don’t do that again,” Connor says.

Hank chuckles, a deep sound that reverberates in his chest. It makes Connor simultaneously want to sob and laugh.

“D’you have everything you need?”

Connor looks over his shoulder, to the abandoned duffel bag.

“Just about,” he answers.

They walk together to collect the bag, and Connor’s breath stutters when he feels Hank’s hand slide into his own.

Hank grabs the duffel and throws it over his shoulder, and they walk back to the car. He opens the door to the passenger seat. Sumo, who has been waiting for his chance, tries to squeeze himself between the two front seats to greet Connor, his tail wagging incessantly. Connor grins, leans in and hugs him, getting sloppy wet kisses all over his face. 

As Hank throws the bag into the trunk, Connor settles in the passenger seat, feeling the rest of his anxiety melt off of him and give way to drowsiness. When Hank gets inside and gives Connor a warm look, Connor smiles sleepily at him.

“Do you mind if I just close my eyes for a bit?” he asks. 

Hank grabs his knee, squeezes it gently and says,

“I’ll be here, Con.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you smiling? We sure hope you're smiling. We put on our finest fluff pants and did our best :D
> 
> We normally edit by reading out loud to each other and let me tell you, the sex scene was a struggle. We only got through it by substituting dick for sandwich and hole for turkey, so we hope you appreciate it xD
> 
> Also, did we name out entire fic for one throw-away (terrible) joke in the end? Yes. Yes, we did.
> 
> Say hi to us on tumblr:  
> https://highlyexplosivecontent.tumblr.com/  
> https://raziella.tumblr.com/
> 
> \---
> 
> Markus: you should... totally just wait here... for no reason  
> Connor: ...  
> \---


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